


Dragon Age: Revolution

by Lord_Winterman



Series: The Apocalyptian Saga [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fenris disagrees, Gen, Hawke is a good influence, Tevinter Civil War, The revolution has begun, slave revolt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23082541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Winterman/pseuds/Lord_Winterman
Summary: For more than two thousand years, Tevinter has stood, decadent and proud, even through the darkest times. However, as the world changes, conflicts arise from both within and without. On one side stands Fenris, former slave and a companion to the Champion of Kirkwall, who finds himself hailed as a savior and liberator of the slaves. On another is Braden Miletus, an enigmatic magister who seeks to cast down any who stand in the way of his vision of the future. The Old Guard digs their heels to defend their ancient holdings, and the Qunari wait for the opportunity to claim Tevinter as their own.The board is set, and the revolution has begun.
Relationships: Fenris (Dragon Age) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Apocalyptian Saga [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1303394





	1. Shadow Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion millennia in the making finally comes to pass, and the gears of war begin to turn.

12th of Eluviesta, 9:38 Dragon

Vaelnor stood at the foot of the high seat in the meeting chamber. Long had it remained empty, awaiting the true Master to return. Dozens of seats, all lower and simpler in design, circled around the room, equidistance from the center, all looking inward; the seats of the generals and masterminds that would see the Master’s dream come to pass. His own seat was to the right of the high seat, just as it had always been, but untouched in the intervening years since the Insurrection all those centuries ago.

“I see you received my message,” Vaelnor said as he heard someone enter the chamber.

“It has been a long time, Vaelnor” Mhadek replied, pleasantly smiling.

“Indeed it has. How are our brethren on the outside doing?”

“Eagerly awaiting the promised day.”

“As we all are.” Vaelnor smiled at his confederate. “The time of waiting is at an end.” Mhadek's amber eye glowed in the darkness, a rare outside sign of emotion in the man.

"How soon?" Mhadek asked eagerly.

"He arrived topside this morning."

"I still do not agree with what he has brought with him."

Mhadek and Vaelnor looked over the darkened corner where a woman clad in heavy armor stood almost flush against the wall, maroon cape flowing down her back. Her grey eyes were fixed on the opposite wall. Her black hair was done up in a neat bun that accommodated her helmet, which was neatly folded up behind her neck.

“Anleya,” Mhadek said with a respectful nod, though the tone of his voice hinted otherwise. Vaelnor, however, gave her a disproving glare.

“It is our sacred duty to serve the Master,” he said. “As a member of the triptych, it is your duty to set the example in this regard, and to the highest degree. If he chooses to recruit humans and ghouls to aid in the bringing of the new dawn, it is not our place to object.”

Any further debate was cut off when an invisible wave hit the three of them. The doors to the chamber flew open as the Master marched into room with an old shemlen with thin, stringy hair. Anleya wisely held her tongue. Even in his diminished state, the Master was an imposing figure, and his aura filled the room. The triptychs rallied next to Vaelnor and bowed their heads in unison. The Master had never been one for overt prostration, but a sign of respect was warranted, nonetheless.

“Welcome, Master,” Vaelnor said. “It brings great joy to see you return to us.”

The Master's regarded the Hierarch with interest. “Your enduring loyalty is noted,” he said. “And your efforts will save us a great deal of time in the awakening of the Apocalyptian.” He glanced to the others. “I take it that these are children born in the intervening years of my absence.”

“Yes, Master,” Vaelnor said, then gestured to his contemporaries. “Anleya is the commander of our military forces, while Mhadek has been keeping us informed of happenings beyond Arladurgen.”

“Hmm…we will see how they fare compared to their predecessors. At any rate, our new compatriot has some skills that should prove worthwhile in the war to come. Ensure he has the resources to continue his work.”

“As you command, Master.” Vaelnor looked at the shemlen. “By what name do you go by, human?”

“My name is of little relevance,” The Scientist replied, “Even if I could remember it.”

“I will see that we come up with an appropriate nomenclature for you, but in the meantime, what environment are you accustomed to?”

“Any space that I can set up a laboratory. Other than some good elbow room, I’m not particularly picky.”

Vaelnor nodded. “We have setup already in place. I am certain it should more than suffice.”

“A bold claim,” the Scientist said, raising his eyebrow.

“You will understand soon enough. Mhadek, see our guest to the laboratory.”

"I look forward to inspecting it. Lead the way." 

A twinge of displeasure crossed Anleya’s face as she was dismissed with a curt nod, and followed her contemporary, falling in behind the scientist as they left the room. The Master stood still as the doors closed again.

“Come, Vaelnor,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 15-MAR-2020
> 
> Did some polishing, then separated the prologue from the rest of the chapter.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long has Tevinter stood, even in the darkest and harshest of times, but its end is fast approaching.

Chapter One

_"Never underestimate the collective will of a down-trodden people, nor overlook the one purported to be weak, especially when he himself affirms it."_ \-- Tarethia

-¤¤¤-

Braden stifled a yawn. He was probably the laziest of the magisters of Tevinter, and his colleagues never failed to point that out. His holdings were small, recently established. Most were quickly dismissive of him, not even bothering to try to undercut his standing. His saving grace was the success his province had experienced since he ascended to his seat in the council. That at least silenced most of his detractors.

Others were still perturbed at his inclusion, and just waited for the opportunity to remove him from what little power he held.

_Like this one,_ Braden thought.

Riding in on an opulent chariot, Anicetus waved to the crowd, basking in the glory of the moment. Many regarded him as one of the most powerful men in Tevinter, and definitely among the wealthiest. Hopping off his chariot, he passed his cloak off to a slave.

“I apologize for this spectacle,” said Anicetus

“No,” Braden scoffed. “You’re not sorry at all.”

Anicetus glanced at his opponent, smirking slightly. “Indeed.”

“I still cannot believe you went through all of this hustle and bustle over a simple jape.”

“It is not about the magnitude of the slight, or lack thereof. It is the principle. It is for what it means to my family when a house as small as yours insulting our name means to the lower people.”

Braden scratched his chin with his thumb. “I do not recall my words being directed towards your house.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “In fact, I think it is quite nice. Very fancy.”

“You know what I mean,” Anicetus growled, then reined in his composure. “Do you not have any whimsical nuggets of wisdom? I understand that you are quite fond of them.”

“Spare me a moment…how about this: even the smallest stone can begin an avalanche.”

“Quite appropriate for your case,” Anicetus chuckled. “In fact that is entirely the reason for all of this. But, surely you can do better than that?”

Braden shrugged. “Not at the moment. My mental fortitude is being directed towards this duel.”

“A shame. Perhaps I can return the favour for once.”

“You are welcome to try.”

“’Every word you speak is more fuel for your pyre’.”

“Spoken like a true philosopher. And I intend to burn quite brightly.”

Anicetus huffed. “You still carry a dagger on your person.”

“Oh, this?” he mused, patting the sheath at his shoulder. The blade and hilt were black, soaking in the light without a hint of a reflection. The guard was golden, a ring on either side of the blade with a small talon jutting out from each side. “I cannot allow another hand to touch this blade.”

“Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you agreed to the terms of the duel,” Anicetus said snippily.

“Quite so,” Braden lightly replied. Stepping to the center of the arena, he removed the blade and placed it on the packed dirt of the arena floor. “I will leave it at the center then. Equal distance between you and myself.” Returning to his starting position, Braden looked over his shoulder. “Defeat me, and the weapon is yours.”

“I would take it anyways,” Anicetus replied. “And where is your friend?”

“Who?”

“The elf. The one who is always lurking around wherever you go.”

“She had some private business to attend to. Why do you care?”

“We would not want anyone to…disturb the results of this duel.”

“You mean you don’t want anyone to interfere with your interference in case things don’t go your way,” Braden jeered.

“As if I would be so crass.” Anicetus stared daggers at the other magister. “I am going to enjoy this far more than I probably should.”

“After you.”

Anicetus launched a fireball, narrowly missing Braden as he rolled out of the way. Sprinting forward, Braden launched a salvo of spells. Erecting a spell shield, Anicetus grinned as the spells harmlessly impacted against the barrier, channeling some of the energy into more power for himself for his counter attack.

Dancing around the spells, Braden tried to get closer to Anicetus, while avoiding being turned to dust. Bolts of lightning and fireballs blistered inches from his skin. His spells were countered at every turn.

_Just a little longer,_ he thought.

Juts of stone sprang from the ground, forcing Braden further into Anicetus’ range. One sprang from underneath him, launching him several feet into the air. A fist of stone flew from Anicetus’ fingertips, catching Braden in the chest and slamming him against the wall. Confident in his victory, Anicetus moved to finish his opponent off.

“I’m glad I remembered that spell,” Braden said, hopping back to his feet, dusting himself off.

With a roar, Anicetus fired off a barrage of spells, all of which veered around Braden, who barely shifted around. Weathering the assault, Braden waited for an opening, slowly stepping towards his foe.

_There._

Extending his hand forward, a blast of telekinetic energy knocked Anicetus off his feet, rolling along the ground. His clothes unkempt and hair ruffled, Anicetus scooted away from Braden, dragging himself to his feet. His staff was far beyond his reach, broken into several pieces.

“Cheater!” Anicetus coughed. “There’s no way you could possibly be this strong. I would have known it.”

“You have blinded yourself to every possibility that would suggest that you could be felled by someone you perceived to be weaker than you. Of course you couldn’t have known.”

Eyes wide with fear, Anicetus dove for Braden’s dagger. A boot crushed his fingers as they slipped around the hilt, causing the magister to scream out in pain. Braden wrenched the dagger from Anicetus’ hand, breaking the man’s fingers in the process. The glint in Braden’s eyes when he drove the dagger into his fellow magister’s skull was the last thing Anicetus saw.

The audience had fallen silent as Braden walked away. Reaching the shadows of the vomitorium, a hooded figure joined up with him, matching his steps while walking slightly behind him.

“I take it you have made your rounds,” said Braden.

“Of course,” she coolly replied.

“Then let us get this show on the road.”

-¤¤¤-

Torrential downpours were common in during the onset of spring in Tevinter. The snow had already passed, but it was no less cold than any other place. Fenris smirked bitterly as he trudged up the road. Anyone else would have stayed indoors in this sort of weather, or loudly complained if they had to go out. Fenris was accustomed to discomfort. Even spending years in Kirkwall, he had done little to nothing in regards to tidying up the mansion he had squatted in. Were it not for the visits from Hawke and Isabella, he probably would have ignored the peculiar scents that would come from spoiled food.

Hawke. Kirkwall. The only pleasant memories he had. How that man had managed to convince Fenris to stick around for so long, in the company of mages no less, two of whom had nearly gotten him killed at one point or another, he had yet to understand. But when he considered the number of times he managed to talk himself in and out of trouble, he supposed he should not really be surprised. And that was before he considered what he had done to help him in his quest against Danarius.

He still got a warm feeling when he remembered reaching into his former master's chest, crushing the man's heart. The thought that he nearly did the same to his...sister. The word carried both sorrow and bitterness. He thought that meeting someone from his family, connecting to his past would help, but it had almost gotten him swept back into Danarius' clutches. Almost. Again, Hawke had pulled him out of the fire.

It still came back to what else Hawke had gotten him into.

Anyone who spent any time around Anders knew that he had...issues. An abomination, which even in the best of times should have been put down in short order. Couple that with an obsession with the "plight of the mages", he was a disaster waiting to happen. That he decided to take his final step off the deep end while he was with Hawke was more than a little frustrating.

The ensuing conflict had caused troubles for more than just Kirkwall, and anyone remotely associated with Hawke or Anders, which happened to include Fenris, had targets painted on them the moment word got out. _I wonder if Sebastian had anything to do with that_ , he thought. Thankfully, Isabela had gotten them out in time.

In a month, their motley band was forced to split up. Anders had been the first to go, leaving one night without a word. Bethany had to leave next before the Grey Wardens decided to come after her for failing to return from her "vacation". Isabela had her own business to attend to. Aveline left with Donnic not long after. He and Varric were the last to leave, neither of them very happy about the prospect. They had decided that the group, regardless of its dwindling status, made them easier to spot, something that none of them could afford. It had been hard to leave. Hawke had given him a measure of stability, a purpose. He had become something familiar when everything else seemed so foreign and in constant state of flux.

Hawke and Merrill were probably hiding out somewhere in the Free Marches still. Meanwhile, he was trudging through the muddy road back to what was the last place he wanted to be: Tevinter.

Ironically, it was the place with the fewest people actively looking for him. One would think killing off a magister and his retinue would be a cause for more people hunting him in Tevinter, not fewer. He was still a few days from the border, and his current pursuers would dog him all the way if they could.

_I really need to get out of the rain,_ Fenris thought. _Where is that inn?_

The location he was looking for presently came into view, lights gleaming in the rainy night. Exhaling sharply, Fenris picked up his pace slightly. He was closed to soaked, but a warm fire and some food were an enticing goal. Arriving at the door, he rapped his knuckles against the hard wood. A young woman with blonde hair opened the door, mist spraying onto her apron.

“Hard to imagine anyone would want to be out in this rain,” the woman said.

“Trying to make up for lost time,” Fenris replied. “May I come in?”

“Yes, sorry about that.” The woman stepped aside, letting him walk past her. “A lot of people are holed up here right now, and that storm won’t quit.” Closing the door, she walked alongside Fenris. “I’d offer to take your coat, but this storm took us all by surprise. A lot of people came here to get out of the rain, so there’s no place to put it right now. You can take a seat by the fire. I’ll get one of the girls to get you something warm to drink.”

“That would be much appreciated, thank you,” Fenris replied. Taking off his cloak would be rather dangerous. He had made some modifications to his armor in the past few months, but with the lyrium markings, he still stood out like a sore thumb. He did not need to give the Templars more clues to follow.

Sitting down, he ignored the wide berth everyone gave him. An impressive feat, given how packed the place was. Once a drink was in hand, he let the conversations of his neighbors wash over him, letting bone-deep weariness and cold seep out, replaced by the warmth of the fireplace.

Unfortunately, the peaceful moment was not to last, and a pounding on the door made everyone in the room go silent.

“Open up!” a voice boomed from the other side.

The Templars all but marched into the inn, cloaks and armor dripping from the rain.

Fenris glanced at the door, but otherwise remained still. Unless he wanted to jump through the window, it was better not to draw attention to himself.

_Figures they would turn up_ , Fenris thought. The fact that Templars were brushing this close to the border of Tevinter was troubling. As was how close they had been on his trail.

“Have any of you seen anyone suspicious?” the Templar asked, his underlying tone more demanding.

“This is an inn on the road to Tevinter. Could you help me narrow the list down?”

“We are looking for the criminal styling himself as 'The Ghost of Shartan'.”

Fenris winced, but still allowed himself to smirk ever so slightly. Another name that had been tagged to him during his travels. It was more amusing than being referred to as the Dread-Wolf. However, it meant that his attempts to remain relatively anonymous had failed. Whether the Templars had connected the pseudonyms to one of Hawke's companions was still up for debate.

“You’re welcome to ask around, ser,” the bartender replied, “but try not to disturb my customers too much.”

Fanning out, the Templars prodded the patrons with questions, forcibly inspecting each person in some cases. Being the most conspicuous person in the room, Fernis prepared for a confrontation and moved his hand to rest on the hilt of his knife.

“You,” one said, “remove your covering.”

Fenris ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on the flames in front of him. The Templar stomped up to his side, smacking him against the shoulder.

“Hood off,” the Templar ordered. Fenris thought he sounded young, likely a new recruit.

When the man's hand reached for the hood, Fenris’ hand whipped away from his belt and back. The fact that the knife had been deposited in the man's esophagus made it impossible to alert his comrades. Choking on the foreign object, the Templar collapsed, clutching his throat. His allies quickly noticed when their friend fell.

Abandoning their search, the Templars began pushing towards the hearth where Fenris was still sitting. The first to reach him drew his sword.

“Present yourself for punishment, murderer,” he commanded.

Standing slowly, Fenris threw his hood back, his silver hair, closely shorn on the sides, plain for all to see. His lyrium markings glowed faintly against the firelight. Expecting a fight, the other patrons scattered like roaches in the light.

“It’s him!” the Templar shouted, then attacked.

Ducking under the man’s swing, Fenris rolled the first man over his shoulder, shoving a stool at the next, hopping over the man as he stumbled forward. In the middle of his jump, he unlatched the belt holding his greatsword in place. The noncombatants scrambled out of the way as the Blade of Mercy swung free. The Templar immediately in front of him raised his shield, but Fernis redirected his swing, allowing him to catch him in the throat with his elbow. The first tried to get up, and was sent into the fireplace with a heavy kick.

Becoming intangible, he rolled through the next man and drove elbow into the man’s back, cracking several of his ribs. Turning his attention to the next Templar, Fenris drove his sword into the man’s chest, then kicking him into the next while pulling his sword free. Another Templar circled around, hoping to catch Fenris while he was distracted.

No time to properly swing his sword around, Fenris phased through the Templar's swing, reaching into the man's chest with his free hand. Pulling his hand free, blood spurted out as the Templar's heart was torn from his chest. Pointing his sword at the remaining Templars, he gave them a sly grin.

“Shall we end this quickly?” Fenris growled.

One bolted for the door, but unfortunately exposed himself to a thrown knife, nailing him in the base of his skull. His companions charged, weapons and voices raised. Fenris flew past the two of them in a whirlwind, bifurcating both of them in a single motion.

Grabbing a cloth from a shocked serving girl, Fenris wiped his sword clean and slung it back into its cradle. The shock on the other patrons’ faces reminded him he was not in Kirkwall. Nobody seemed to care when a battle broke out. The mistress of the inn looked like she was torn between indignant rage and abject horror.

He walked over to the Templar who had crawled out of the fireplace, knocking him unconscious and throwing him over his shoulder.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, tossing her a coin purse as he strode to the door, “I will trouble you no further.” Adjusting his cloak, he stepped back out into the rain, letting the door slam shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 15-MAR-2020


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' journey hits a snag in the form of a new companion.

Fenris sighed. The rain persisted, and hail began to mix with the precipitation, dinging off of the Templars armor. The man was still unconscious, but there were still some answers Fenris wanted. The last few times he had run into the Templars, he did not have the opportunity to drag one off for interrogation.

Dropping the man next to the tree, Fenris stuffed his hand into the Templar’s chest until he woke up.

“Sweet Andraste!” the Templar cried out. “What was that?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Fenris replied. “For now,” he added ominously.

“You! You’re one of Hawke’s cohorts.”

Fenris sighed. “Either I grabbed the wrong one or I hit you in the head too hard. I thought you would have been better informed.” Fernis stood and reached for his spare knife, idly remembering the one he had let behind at the inn. “I suppose any time interrogating you would be wasted.”

“What?! Wait! No, I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know.”

“What’s your name?”

“What?

Fenris could hear Hawke making a smart remark about the response. “Your name. I trust you can understand and remember that much.”

“J-Justin.”

“Well Justin, are there anymore Templars nearby?”

“N-no.”

Fernis backhanded the man, gouging his cheek open. “Lying isn’t going to get you anywhere, Justin.”

“Are you expecting me to betray my brothers?”

“No. I’m actually hoping to avoid them if at all possible. Do I need to repeat the question?”

Justin bit his lip. “We were part of a company,” he said hesitantly. “We were supposed to meet up further north to watch the road into Tevinter after we followed our lead. Said that they were expecting you that way.”

“I appreciate the information, but I am afraid I must apologize.”

“For wha-?”

Justin’s breath was cut off when Fenris drove his fist into his chest.

“For this. I can't have you bringing anyone else after me.”

Fenris closed the dead Templar’s eyes and walked off, drawing his hood over his head. The hail died down, but the air was still cold.

“So they’re waiting on the road?” he pondered aloud. “That shouldn’t be too hard to avoid.”

The rain persisted, and the hail left a thin sheet of white on the ground. The melting ice crunched underneath his boots as he walked along the road. He still some distance from the border. If Justin’s information was correct, he would have to start taking back trails. For that, he needed some light additional light and clear skies.

The forest opened into a field, a farmhouse situated in the forward acres. A shed leaned against the house, and a large barn stood off a ways. A weathered fence encompassed the property, undoubtedly the result of some considerable time and labor with how large the field was.

Fenris approached the farm carefully. Against the white of the melting hail on the ground, any abrupt motion would give him away, and he did not want the residents or the Templars to ever know that he had been there. Creeping through the trees, Fernis slipped to the barn and through the doors. Inside, he was greeted with a surprisingly well maintained interior, and a fresh smell of livestock. The animals were scarcely disturbed by his presence, quickly quieting down after their curiosity was sated. Climbing to the loft, Fenris settled down to rest.

Which lasted for about five minutes.

The door to the barn creaked open, a man with a lantern in hand. Biting back a swearword, Fenris got up and slinked over to another spot, better shielded by the dark. He stepped lightly on his toes, taking care not to make a sound. The farmer poked his head in the pens, checking on the animals. He hummed a little tune, slightly off key, while he made his rounds below, then climbed up and poked his head above the loft. To Fenris’ silent thanks, the animals had apparently been fed, and the man climbed back down without a further look.

When the man left the barn again, Fernis slumped against the wall, sighing in relief before dozing off.

No idea how long he napped, Fenris’ eyes snapped open again as he reached for his sword, rolling to his knees and peering over the edge of the loft. No one had entered the barn, but the animals were becoming frantic.

Hopping over the side, Fenris crept to the door and looked outside in the direction of the house. No lights were seen in the windows. Leaving the way he had come in, Fenris circled around the farmhouse to get a better look. Along the way, he saw shapes moving inside, illuminated by a lantern. He was about to ignore it when he saw the Templars at the door. Fenris approached trough the garden and strained his ears to hear.

“Can I help you?” the farmer asked.

“We’re looking for a criminal,” the Knight-Captain said. “An elf with white hair. Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“He was said to have been seen in this region last. We will see if you speak the truth.”

“I’m telling you, I haven’t seen anything.”

The Knight-Captain turned to some of his men. “Check the barn.”

 _Just my luck,_ Fenris thought angrily. A close inspection would reveal his presence in short order.

Daring a closer look, Fenris snuck into the next collection of bushes. The Templars searched the house, unaware of how close their quarry was. From the voices, there was only a handful of people inside, all of whom were quickly corralled into the common area of the house.

As expected, a Templar soon came running back.

“Sir, we found something in the loft," he reported. “A fresh puddle. Not from the weather.”

“Ridiculous!” the farmer protested. “I checked an hour ago. I found nothing out of the ordinary. And even they managed to hide, people try to camp there all the time. You-”

“Silence!” the Knight-Captain demanded. “Where are you hiding them?”

“I swear I don't know what you're talking about.”

“And I pronounce you a liar. Either surrender both the heretic and the apostate, or suffer the consequences.”

“You arrogant tw-!”

The Knight-Captain cut the man down.

“Search the house,” he ordered. “They must be hiding close by. Look for anything that might give us a clue.”

“What about the rest?” a Templar asked.

The Knight-Captain gave the house a derisive sniff.

“Kill the rest,” he said finally. “They are clearly corrupted.”

Screams erupted from the house, but were quickly silenced. Soon after, Templars exited the house, searching the property. While they were distracted, Fenris jogged to the house, unnoticed by the Templars.

Grabbing the first Templar he found, Fenris jabbed his knife into the man’s neck and threw him against the wall, diving back into the shadows. The ruckus drew two more to his location. Their backs facing him, Fenris jumped out and grabbed the two men, wrapping an arm around each of their necks and snapping them both in quick succession. Drawing his sword he withdrew from the house, following the path to the fence.

The Templars approached from all sides, but in their armor, the mire slowed them down, allowing Fenris to take them down at a steady pace. One by one, two by two, Fenris fought them, his lighter armor and superior agility allowing him to maneuver around his foes and throw them off balance while keeping himself free to deal with the others. Relentlessly, they pressed towards him, each death enraging them further.

Watching his men fall, the Captain pulled back into the house with two of his subordinates, shutting the door behind them. Cutting down the last of the men outside, Fenris approached the door, flourishing his sword. Kicking the door off the hinges, Fenris surveyed the entry way. No Templars waited for him.

Inching forward, Fenris glanced at the shadows. His opponents would be waiting for him further inside.

_But where?_

Stepping to the doorway leading out of the hall, Fenris stopped short. Too many places to look at once, and the near complete darkness made his natural night vision borderline useless, which made him wonder if the Templars would actually be where he thought they were. Taking a deep breath, Fenris began to glow blue and leaped forward through the wall.

Jumping through walls was typically painful, and his allies could never follow him, which is why he almost never did it. More importantly, the thicker the wall, the more likely he would either get stuck or forcibly ejected in a random direction. The stone structure of Kirkwall had scarcely given him the opportunity to make use of his powers like this.

The pain made the surprise from the Templars worth it. The nearest man was caught off guard, and was slow bringing up his shield to block. Depriving his opponent of the shield, Fenris slashed the Templar’s throat and parried the swing from the next, running him through the chest. Pulling his sword out, he turned to face his remaining opponent. The Captain ran up to him, flinging a lantern and stomping his foot. An invisible wave washed over Fenris. He recognized a cleansing aura when he felt it; his powers shorted out when it happened.

But now there was only one left. Steel met steel, sparks glinting in the darkness as the two men clashed. The Knight-Captain was clearly experienced, and an excellent swordsman at that. When he pulled out a second blade, he nearly caught Fenris by surprise. Still, the elf had spent years fighting from Seheron to Sundermount. Even without using his powers, the fight was over in short order, leaving the Knight-Captain in a pool of his own blood.

Controlling his breathing, he scanned the room for any dangers. Long, drawn-out battles tended to leave profound silences in their wake. It was probably the only reason Fenris heard the scuffling after the last Templar had fallen.

Stalking towards the window, he readied his blade and threw away the curtain. To his surprise, he found a little girl, curled up against the wall, shivering. She was a tiny thing. Possibly underfed, but still breathing and staring up at him eyes wide with terror.

Cleaning off his sword, Fenris placed it back in its cradle. He gave the room a quick survey. The bodies of the inhabitants were strewn around one corner. Clean cuts, but dead all the same. That did make it easier as Fenris led the girl into another room away from the carnage, sitting her down on a chair in the dining room.

“What’s your name, girl?” Fernis asked.

The girl looked up and stared at the elf blankly. Not a shred of emotion played on her face and she did not say a word.

“Is there anyone you can stay with? You can’t stay here.”

Blank stare, but her eyes drifted back to the room where her family had been slain.

“Can you understand what I’m saying?”

The girl nodded and sat up.

 _Progress,_ Fenris thought. “Can you speak?”

A look of confusion.

“My name is Fenris. What is your name?”

The girl looked around, hopped to her feet and began running around searching for something. She looked like she was about to run outside, but thought better of it when she saw the rain.

“Are you named after a flower?”

She turned back to him and nodded.

“Ugh…I’ll just call you Rain for now. I don’t know enough flower names in common, much less any other language to begin guessing your name.”

Surely the girl had family to take her in. Then again, in all likelihood, it would be several days, or longer, before anyone else came to check on the house. Leaving the girl unattended with several dozen corpses would not be wise. He could take her and leave at an orphanage in the next town. The map had a town noted within a few miles of the border. It would be as good a place as any to leave the girl.

“There’s no way you can make the journey on foot,” he thought out loud. “Sit here. I’ll grab some things for the road.”

Fenris looked around the house. He found some clothes for the girl, plus a spare cloak. He fetched some supplies as well, hoping that no one, especially the walked in on him rummaging through the larder and cabinets. Throwing the items into his pack, he threw the cloak around the girl and walked back out to the barn. Saddling the horse, Fenris placed the girl up then climbed on himself. Clicking his tongue and driving his heels into the horse’s side, they moved forward into the damp night. The rain tapered off before long, the storm moving further south. Still, Fenris kept riding until dawn, the girl falling asleep in the saddle in front of him.

Finding a place to rest, Fenris dismounted and set the still-sleeping girl next to a tree where the ground was relatively dry. Pulling out a couple of apple, he consumed his breakfast in silence. When the girl began stirring, he sauntered over to her and dropped the apple in her lap.

“Eat,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.”

In the proper light, Fenris noted the girl’s features. She was young. Not even ten by Fenris’ guess. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, pale skin and a slender face.

“You still have a tongue, why can’t you speak?”

Head tilt. Confused look.

“Forget I asked.”

Rain continued chomping at the apple.

 _Great,_ Fenris thought, _I’m becoming Hawke._ The Champion of Kirkwall had had a penchant for picking up strays as long as Fenris had known him. Merrill, Anders, Bodahn and his boy, Orana, and even Fenris himself had been practically picked up off the street by the man. Even Bubbles, Hawke’s mabari hound, was a stray if he remembered the story correctly. If this kept up, the next thing he knew he would be in charge of looking out for people and solving _their_ problems.

Once breakfast was finished, they set off again, arriving in town at midday. The town was sparsely populated, hardly anyone to be seen for what should have been the busiest time of the day. This was supposed to be a major thoroughfare, yet it looked like it was on the verge of economic collapse. Rain looked around nervously, clinging tightly to Fenris, much to the elf's discomfort.

Riding up to the dusty inn, Fenris put up the horse and led Rain inside. Much like the outside, the inn had seen better days. A few patrons were strewn about in a dining area that would have held a great many more. At the bar, a man with a drooping mustache and thin spectacles leaned against the back counter.

“Good afternoon,” the bartender addressed the newcomers cheerily. “What can I get for you?”

“Milk for the child, and anything with alcohol for myself,” Fenris replied, sitting Rain down next to him. The bartender gave them a curious look, but then went about his business.

“Not many outsiders these days,” he said as he worked. “What brings you this way?"

“Family matters.”

The Bartender nodded, apparently accepting his answer. “Didn't think a Tevniter would have family across the border.”

“My family is...complicated.”

“You aren't the only one,” the Bartender laughed. Fenris merely nodded.

“I am surprised to find so few here.”

“This whole Mage-Templar deal boiling over has dried up business south of us. Safer places to send your goods through if you want to go further.” The Bartender sighed. “They'll all come back when things die down.”

A triplet of Templars stomped into the inn.

“Afternoon, gents,” the bartender greeted, just as polite as before.

“Has there been any word from our Knight-Captain?” the apparent leader asked. The Bartender thought or a moment before replying.

“Captain Hollard hasn't been in for days. He set out with his men on a search.” Grabbing a cloth from his waist, he began polishing the tankard in his hand. “You boys look troubled.”

“We heard about another squad being attacked in a town not far from here.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow and then glanced at the girl. The Templars themselves were not paying either of them much attention as they chatted with the bartender, and just as quickly as they had come, they left. Fenris discretely sighed.

The plan he had been counting on had fallen through. Unless he wanted to make an extended detour either around the border or back the way he had come, he needed to take the girl with him. Or he could explain the situation with the bartender in hopes of finding a place to drop the kid off. In either case, the longer he stayed, the greater the chance of being recognized became. And the trail he had left was short enough and warm enough that it would not be hard to track him.

“Finish your milk, Rain,” Fenris said. “We need to get a move on.”

¤¤¤

Braden popped the crate open to inspect the shipment. He picked up one of the weapons inside and gave it a heft. Not a perfect weight, but it would at least balance things out. With a sigh, he replaced the weapon and closed the crate back up. Testing would have to wait until later.

“How soon until the next shipment arrives?” he asked.

“Next week, my lord,” Dalos replied.

“Good. Everything is on schedule.” Turning to the other shadows in the room, locked eyes with the leader. “Distribute these amongst yourselves and commence your operations.” Watching his men get to work, Braden turned to leave the warehouse, Dalos and his elf companion falling in behind him. “I think today is going to be quite interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 15-MAR-2020
> 
> I can't remember exactly why Rain was originally added to the story, other than Fenris brooding all by his lonesome got kind of old. Having someone who Fenris has to voice his plans to also helped, and inflicting the premiere loner of the party from DA2 with Hawke Syndrome sounded hilarious as time went on.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With hunters now caught on his trail and plots advancing around him, Fenris is thrust into a position that he had never wanted to be, but fate has demanded of him.

Hannah surveyed the carnage spread out before her. More than a dozen Templars strewn about the yard, corpses long cooled, blood and mud drying on their armor and skin. She recognized many of her contemporaries, men she had ridden with to the Free Marches. Not one of them had survived. Mercifully, none had apparently suffered for long; their killers had made sure of that. What was surprising was the fact that they had come out in this direction to begin with.

Kinght-Captain Hollard had given explicit instructions to regroup in Staffert once they had finished searching the nearby villages, hoping to potentially snag the fugitive before he disappeared into Tevinter. Yet not even Hollard was to be found at their designated rendezvous point. A hasty search of the town had turned up essentially nothing, except that their last direction was back south. Following that lead had brought them to this homestead.

Winston and the others checked the bodies for any signs of magic, but so far, they had found nothing. The men who had checked the barn had found nothing out of the ordinary, at least nothing that would not be expected from being abandoned for days. The animals were restless and hungry. Some of the pens were empty, the former inhabitants missing, having been broken out. Or let out.

Whoever had killed all their compatriots had probably made their escape on one of the horses. At this point, they could have made for Nevarra, Tevinter, or Antiva and there was no possibility for them to catch up.

“Prepare our brothers for a proper funeral,” Hannah commanded.

“We have time for digging graves?”

“We will make time.”

Winston nodded and rallied the others to help him. Hannah entered the house, removing her helm. Shifting her short brown hair behind her ears, she looked at the mud that had caked onto the floor.

The entry way was dark and cold. A few of her brothers had been slain in the entry way, much more simply than the others, ambushed by Hannah's reckoning. A trail of dirty footprints lead into the sitting room, where the pale light in the window showed the scene in its full glory.

Two more Templars lay dead, waiting at the threshold to ambush someone. Where their bodies had fallen implied that their killer had not approached from the direction they had expected. The family had been butchered, shoved into a corner with no significant sign of fighting back. And at the center of the room, practically cleaved in two, was Knight-Captain Hollard.

She had had her arguments with the man. He was brutal and paranoid, prone to killing anyone suspected of conspiring with maleficarum or harboring apostates. Still, he was a devoted Templar. He carried out his orders with brutal efficiency and always to the letter. Most of all, he would not abandon a target unless...

Hannah darted from room to room, looking for any sign that would confirm or disprove her hunch. She searched the shelves for diaries, ransacked drawers for evidence. Finding a journal, she began flipping through the pages. To her surprise, she found a familiar schematic. Dropping the journal, she ran out to the workshop. Winston followed her, a look of concern on his face.

“Have you found something?” he asked. “Knight-Captain?”

“Help me with this,” she answered.

Throwing a mound of junk off a chest, she and Winston pried the thing open. Throwing more items out, she dug to the bottom, quietly praying she was not on a wild goose chase. Pulling out a small box, she it apart and took out the item it contained: a copper ring the width of her fist with a vial of red affixed in the center, glowing faintly.

“Flames,” Hannah muttered.

-¤¤¤-

Braden sat before the fire, bare feet propped up on a table as he sipped tea. The door behind him swung open.

“They're here,” his elf cohort announced.

“Of course they are,” Braden replied, jumping to his feet. “You know what to do.”

The elf nodded and bowed before gliding off. Braden smiled as he threw on his coat and gathered a welcome party, riding out to meet his visitors. Even from the distance, he recognized Ather’s sigil held at the forefront.

“Lord Miletus,” Ather called out.

“Lord Evidan,” Braden called back. “See, I know your name too.”

“Enough with your jokes, Miletus. You know why I am here.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Your actions are earning you the ire of the other magisters. I intend to bring you before them myself. By force, if necessary.”

“Color me terrified.”

Ather stared daggers at his contemporary. “If you won't surrender, I will strike you down. No one would blame me after what you did to Anicetus. I imagine the council will accept you in a bag.”

“Anicetus was a colossal prick. I don't see why you should care.”

“Enough!”

A flame erupted from the magister's hand. Before he could attack, a bolt of light flew over Braden's shoulder, striking the other magister in the chest and burning through him. The rest of his men looks startled. The shot had come from a greater distance than any bow. In the silence, Xanthus moved forward, and Braden smirked triumphantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome,” he said shaking his co-conspirator's hand.

Xanthus signaled his men forward.

“Is this the result of your work?” he asked discretely.

“More of the inspiration,” Braden answered with a smile. With this, he gave a near imperceptible nod to his cohort standing in the shadows of the castle.

“Interesting. I can hardly wait to see what else you have planned.”

-¤¤¤-

Fenris sighed as he sat on a rickety chair. He and Rain had jumped the border without issue. From the rumors, border security had tightened recently, eyes focused inward as opposed to outward. Some magisters were having a major spat, something that Fenris had no recollection of having ever happened before. Sure, there had been duels, but never anything that whispered full on warfare. Such a thing would distract from the war front with the Qunari.

Still, no one seemed to be paying him any attention. Granted, he did not have the same infamy he had in Kirkwall, and now, the rest of Thedas. Denarius had been killed far outside the Imperium, but apparently no one cared that his killer had returned to Tevinter.

Rain was already sleeping in the room behind him. Admittedly, the girl was partly responsible for the lack of attention on him. A man traveling with a child was far less conspicuous than a man traveling alone. It also helped that she still had not said a word since he found her.

“Thanks for taking us in, Emmen,” Fenris said.

“It's no trouble,” Emmen replied. Fenris cringed internally. He was putting these people in grave danger just by being here. But if all went well (something Fenris was quite doubtful of since his time working with Hawke), he and Rain could be on and at the next town before anyone caught on that they were there in the first place. However, after days on the road, merely cutting and running was inadvisable for more than simply being discourteous.

“It’s strange seeing someone come from the south, especially in these times,” the old man said. “What’s your story?” Emmen flinched when he met Fenris’ gaze. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a curious sort.”

“Curiosity has gotten the better of many men,” Fenris replied, a faint edge of amusement.

“But that hasn’t turned everyone off from it.”

“Hm. True enough.”

“How long do you intend on-“

A ruckus was heard outside, shouts and the sound of horses approaching.

“We've come for a runaway slave and murderer,” and authoritative voice announced. “Let him come forward and accept his punishment.”

Fenris idly regarded the soldiers, figuring not to overreact. It was not as if the world revolved around him.

“We know you’re here, Fenris.”

The elf swore under his breath. Rain was already tucked in. He might be able to leave her if they were only looking for him, but there was no guarantee that no one would turn her over. He grabbed his sword and swung the door open.

“What are you doing?” Emmen asked.

“Getting a breath of fresh air,” Fenris replied.

-¤¤¤-

The Imperium soldier scanned the windows and rooftops, looking for signs of their quarry. He had a penchant for causing a scene when making an escape. It had been mere chance that someone had recognized Danarius’ pet passing into the city, and the bounty on him was still waiting to be collected.

“You have a minute before we start executing those harboring you,” their commander bellowed.

“Watch out!” someone shouted.

Fenris fell from the roof, slamming into the midst of the soldiers, rolling to his feet and swinging out a greatsword.

The horses panicked, sending the formation into chaos. Fenris slashed the nearest rider and began going to work on the rest. The captain tried and failed to rally his men, the screams of their fellows distracting them as Fenris cut through their ranks. Seeing his target, the captain let loose a salvo of lightning bolts, forcing Fenris to bob and duck around cover to avoid being hit.

Above the streets, he could see as archers got into position and began firing on him. More surprising was that some of the locals had started joining the fray, jumping and mobbing soldiers that had gotten separated from the main group.

Taking cover behind a storefront, Fenris was knocked away when the building exploded around him. Turning around, Fenris had to step back from the blast of fire that consumed the guard that had been coming up behind him. Searching for source of the spell, Fenris spotted Rain hiding behind a corner, holding her hands close to herself.

“I must be dreaming,” he murmured.

The captain was stunned for a second, but regained his senses. “He has a mage working with him!” he barked. “Get her!”

Fenris recovered and intercepted the soldiers. Kicking one of the peons into the captain, he set on the next one, who dodged the initial swing and parried the follow-up, only to receive a pommel to the throat before a vicious downward strike finished him off.

“Get out of here, Rain!” Fenris shouted, cutting down the next solider to run at him.

The girl flinched, but stood her ground out of fright.

_For Maker’s sake,_ Fenris thought, blocking another strike to his chest and countering, dropping the soldier to the ground with a split breastplate. Scooping up the girl, he found a hiding place for her with some other frightened citizens.

“Don’t let her run off,” Fenris growled and then sprinted back to the fray. Creeping along the walls, he took in the battlefield. Some of the soldier had spread out, the rest holding a tight formation around their captain. Throwing a quick glance back the way he had come, he jumped at the first soldier to approach.

The others took note and charged, promptly cut down in a whirlwind of metal.

“Fancy meeting Danarius’ pet roaming freely,” the captain said. Fenris spun around, facing the captain, absently cutting down another soldier. The captain smiled. “And here I thought you would never come back.”

“Perhaps I hadn’t gotten my fill of cutting out magister hearts,” he replied.

The captain scowled, but quickly schooled his features. “Bold of you, to be sure. But boldness often overlaps with folly.”

The captain flung a bolt of lightning at the elf. Fenris jumped out of the way, cringing as the air bristled behind him. With the barrage trailing his path, Fenris jumped through a wall into another building, avoiding the blasts of destruction that turned the place into a whirlwind of splinters and debris. Jumping back out, Fenris charged the captain, cutting down the guards he threw at him, but was stopped short by a volley of arrows.

When the first arrow hit Fenris in the shoulder, he ghosted and dodged, now having to contend with an additional layer of attacks as he tried to close on the captain while assessing the damage. The arrowhead did not pierce the armor, but did bury itself deeply into the metal. Snapping the shaft, Fenris threw a firebomb he had been saving, causing the horse to throw off its rider.

Someone was helping clear the roofs, throwing the archers from the vantage point. Fenris gave a silent thanks to his unknown ally while dodging a fireball. The captain seemed to grow more irritable and panicked at the loss of most of his minions, so Fenris went in for the kill.

Letting a pair of spells that would have killed him if given to chance to connect slip through him, the elf blitzed forward, driving his massive greatsword into the man’s chest. As the enemy mage gurgled out the last dregs of his life, Fenris pulled the blade away and saw the crowd gathering. None came too close, save for Rain, who wriggled out of her temporary guardian to run back to Fenris.

For a while, no one said a word. Fenris kept his sword out in case someone decided to attack him.

“What have you done?” one shrieked.

“They’ll kill us all for this!” one cried.

“Like they wouldn’t otherwise,” another argued.

Fenris scowled at the crowd, dragging the captain’s corpse up by the hair.

“This is what you fear. What you have allowed yourselves to be subjugated to are nothing more than mere men; powerful, but not invincible. I know well enough that they can fall, even with their benefit of magic.”

“How?”

“I killed my former master, Danarius.”

“You _killed_ you master?” someone asked incredulously.

“I didn’t do it alone.”

The scattered looks of horror turned to desperation.

“Please, protect us.”

“Don’t leave us.”

The cries and pleading overlapped into a din.

“You are going to have to take hold of your own fates,” Fenris shouted over the crowd. “I will not do it for you.” Picking up Rain, Fenris turned to walk away.

“Why not lead us?” A clear voice called out.

Fenris whirled around to the last voice, the crowd parting between him and them. Staring back at him with grey eyes. Splotches of blood dotted the woman’s clothes. But what Fenris noticed most of all was the collar worn by mages enslaved by magisters.

“You’ve already broken your own chains,” the woman added. “Why not help us do the same?”

Grimacing, Fenris tried to think of an out, some way to get out of being placed in such a role. Hawke and Sebastian had both mentioned the possibility at one point or another, but before he could render his answer, someone had begun chanting his name, the crowd carrying it into a din.

“Fenris! Fenris! Fenris!”

_Blast it, Hawke! This is your fault._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 4-APR-2020
> 
> Kind of disappointed with how I originally wrote the ending for this chapter. Even with some tweaks, it still feels cheesy, awkward, and maybe a little forced. My only explanation would be an overexposure to Hawke's general "help everyone who asks" attitude meeting a scared populace finally being offered a lifeline. It also helps (or hurts?) that Fenris really has nowhere else to go and every reason to follow through, however unqualified he feels.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the spark of revolution, Fenris leads the first "official" operation against Tevinter. Meanwhile, Braden makes his own move in Minrathous.

Fenris stalked up towards the local fort behind his guide, both moving at such a pace that the men and women who had volunteered, all ten of them, could keep up. To his gratitude, the guards, while on edge with the commotion from town and the absence of their commander, they had yet to spot the infiltration team creeping up to the walls. Granted, if he had tried this on one of the fortress further north he would have been turned to a pile of ash long before he got this far.

Also in their favor was that no one had been sent into town yet to investigate the disturbance. That would have been bad for the plan as well. From what sources of information he had, there were hardly any mages there in the first place.

Debiel, the human guiding them to a supposed back way, apparently had snuck into the place before and was to be leading them to a way inside.

At that moment, Fenris wished Hawke was with them. If there was someone who could break into the fort with minimum effort, that person would be Hawke. If he ever bothered to keep his mouth shut long enough. Or he would do the crazy thing and ask the guards to let him in. The logic that worked around that man would have allowed the possibility.

Regrettably, Hawke was probably hiding from Templars elsewhere in Thedas, and it was up to Fenris to improve the chances these people had at surviving the next few days.

“Here we are,” Debiel whispered, pulling the hatch open. “Escape tunnel.”

“And why do you know about this in the first place?” one of the other infiltrators asked.

Debiel laughed uneasily while scratching the back of his head. “Um…romantic capers,” he admitted.

“Forget I asked,” Fenris replied, clippedly. “Move on.”

The infiltrators slipped into the hatch. Fenris glanced behind them before following after them, closing the entrance behind them. He scooted down the tunnel, dagger in hand. He had not dismissed the notion that, intentionally or not, could be walking into a trap.

Before Fenris reached the end, he could hear the sounds of a melee and hastened his movements. Emerging into the small storage room, he found the rest of the team mobbing the two guards who had the unfortunate timing of running into them.

“Take their weapons,” Fenris ordered.

The guards were subdued, and would likely not wake for some time, but Fenris was willing to bet that the ruckus had been heard upstairs. Drawing his greatsword, he crept up the stairs. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he gestured the rest to follow him.

The main grounds were bustling, guards crawling all over the place. Swearing under his breath, Fenris looked for a pattern in the patrols to exploit.

“We need a distraction,” Fenris concluded. Looking back at his fellow infiltrators, he saw them shifting nervously. “I’ll do it. Debiel, take them to the gate, but keep yourselves out of sight. The moment I’ve drawn the guards off, set off the signal. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”

The blond man nodded and scampered off with the rest. Fenris ducked out into the courtyard, staying out of the torchlight. His hair was obscured by a hood, ensuring he would not be noticed by that.

Figuring himself at the near opposite side of the gate, Fenris stepped up to the first enemy and dragged his blade across the man’s neck and threw him out into the open. Going to a sprint, he made for the next target.

At the last second, the man twisted around to face the oncoming elf and reached for his sword. Briefly grappling with the guard, Fenris snapped the man’s neck and threw him over the side of the wall. He ran the next guard through and kicked him off his sword.

“Where did he come from?” someone shouted.

With sufficient noise made, the guards zeroed in on his location. Archers turned to shoot him as Fenris bobbed between the pillars while tearing through the panicking soldiers. He threw off his cloak at the next man, shoving him into his fellows.

 _Where’s the signal?_ Fenris thought. Carving his way through, he made his way to the ramparts. Most elected to run, but the elf gave chase. Ducking between the ramparts as more arrows flew at him, he thinned out the archers on his side when he notice some guards circling around the gatehouse.

Fenris jumped down and dashed across the courtyard, hoping to draw off some enemies to give his allies some breathing room.

Slashing the braces on the door apart, Fenris hefted the crossbar off and kicked the gate open.

With the gate opened, Fenris grabbed a torch and threw the torch high over his head and turned back around to the stream of foes pressing in. Cutting down enemies left and right, Fenris made his way to where the other infiltrators had holed up. Out of the original eleven, only three remained. From them, Debiel was the only one standing, and even he was in a bad way.

“You need to hold on a little while longer,” Fenris said, picking up one of the wounded and dragging him behind cover. Debiel did the same with the other man.

“What are we going to do?” Debiel asked.

Turning around, Fenris looked at the soldiers gathering outside.

_Need to keep them distracted._

Stepping towards the door, Fenris phased through a spattering of arrows. The soldiers edged back. Most were hesitant to make a move in the first place, even with the small numbers they were facing. The silver hair and being covered in blood probably had something to do with that.

A fireball landed right in the middle of the crowd, scattering the guards. His opening made, Fenris ran out, swinging his blade in wild arcs. Another fireball landed at the rear of the formation, shoving the guards together.

That was when the rest of the budding revolution charged in, carrying whatever weapons they could scrounge up. As more poured in, the remaining defenders began to break. A few tried to retreat in a semblance of order, but it was not long before the mage walked up to him, bowing.

“The fort is ours,” she said.

Fenris decided he had had enough for one day.

¤¤¤

Braden popped his neck, striding down the halls to the Imperial Senate. His elven cohort walked to the left and just behind him, a hood concealing her appearance as usual, and to his right and her left were two guards each. Light security were it not for the guards posted along the hall leading up to the chambers.

The vaulted halls and the occasional macabre were meant to intimidate, but Braden was more amused with the sight. The murals that lined the walk to the main chamber depicted much of Tevinter’s history. Interestingly, in all the years of Tevinter’s existence, especially in more modern history, no one had bothered to remove them despite the…negative connotations some of them held.

More guards awaited them at the double doors leading to the chambers, decked out in armor and the finest weapons. The few mages present among them wore a distinctive gold trim on their armor to denote status. Regardless of Braden’s reputation for being weak, they were certainly not taking any chances.

“Your servant stays here, Lord Miletus,” the head of the guard said “Along with your weapons.”

“As you wish,” Braden said, handing over his staff and sword. “I have nothing that I need to hide.”

Once satisfied that the magister was bereft of any weapons or potential weapons, the guards stepped aside. If he tired something with magic, the best of the land would deal with it themselves.

“You may enter,” the guard said, ushering him inside.

Braden inclined his head in acknowledgement as the tall double doors swung inward ominously. The other magisters had already taken their seats and Archon Radonis stared at him with an impassive gaze.

“What a great honor for the Magisters of Tevinter to halt everything in order to convene here today on my behalf,” Braden said cheerily. “No slave revolts to put down?”

“Silence!” Auraurius barked, his voice echoing through the room. “You do know why you are here, correct? Or do the legends of your instabilities bear truth?”

“Of course,” Braden said facetiously. “I understand why I am here.”

“Then perhaps you can clear a certain matter for us.”

Braden straightened his posture. “I am at your displosal.”

“The rumors of insurrection your province have been most unsettling. The lack of response from our agents investigating even moreso. Do you have anything to state regarding this matter?”

“I do.”

Some of the magisters looked to each other, a few more than slightly irritated at his antics.

 _Good,_ Braden thought. The old codgers needed to loosen up some. Radonis’ voice brought him back to present.

“Then please, enlighten us.”

Braden smiled and took a step forward, guards tensing in anticipation.

“Your sources are correct,” he said. “Though they are behind the flow of current events. They more than rumors. At this very moment, my people are making their moves to enact my masterful plan.”

“What?!” Nanterius started.

“Speak clearly, Miletus,” Radonis demanded. “We have no time for games within these halls.”

“I do believe I spoke as plainly as I could have hoped,” Braden replied. “If you are incapable of understanding words, perhaps action will have to suffice.”

“You speak treason!” Auraurius shouted.

“That will be a matter for history to decide. It is time for the old Tevinter to die and for a new one to rise in its place. There will be no place for you when tomorrow comes.”

“Guards, execute him! Kill him now!”

While the Magisters stood up to ready themselves for combat, the guards rushed as all of the light in the room collected in the palm of Braden’s right hand as he coiled his arm towards his hip, plunging the room in complete darkness except for a distinct glow where their target stood with his hand closed around the light he held.

Thrusting his palm to the ceiling, Braden opened his hand, releasing his miniature star, blinding and burning everyone else inside the room.

Dust and ashes drifted from the ceiling while a silence hung in the air. Inspecting his slain foes, Braden found one guards wheezing, blinking, and squinting.

“Good. At least one of you survived. I need to you relay a message to the more…devoted adherents to the old order.”

The Magister squinted in the direction of Braden’s voice, trying to use eyes that had been singed to the point of uselessness.

“I trust that this has demonstrated both my dedication and sincerity of this revolution. I will leave you alive to relay my declaration of war. My men have already struck first, but I would like something for them to mull over.”

The man stared at him blankly, unable to see as Braden hopped down, stepping over corpses as he made his exit.

With a satisfied look on his face, Braden magically forced the doors open into the lobby where all of the guards were on the floor, dead without having readied their weapons to defend themselves. His ally stood at the side of the door like a silent sentinel as the rebellious magister took in the scene.

Prancing and dancing over the bodies that littered the room leading to the main chamber, clapping in rhythm to the movement of his footsteps as he retrieved his weapons from the guard’s body.

“Come, my dear,” Braden said to his ally with a mock Orlesian accent as he walked towards the entrance of the building. “And compose,” he whispered to himself, passing his hand over his face like an elegant fan.

Shoving the double doors open, he was greeted by the sight of the dimming battle. Wounded enemies were gathered with the results of tireless research pointed at their heads: guns.

Much easier to train for and use than bows, and more accurate over longer distances than crossbows. Though powered by magic, these longarms were made so that even the common man was now a step closer to leveling the playing field with mages. Granted, it was difficult to obtain the necessary materials to craft such weapons, but the results had been well worth the wait. It was also prudent that the users be proficient in other combative arms, as with archers, a skilled swordsman or something else of the like could easily ruin their day if they were not careful.

Standing at the top of the stairs, his soldiers and the prisoners looked up at him, anticipating.

“Welcome, brethren,” Braden began. “Today we have started ourselves on a quest of utmost importance. The Archon and his magisters have been struck down, their followers have descended into chaos. I do not desire to replace their chains with chains of my own.” Everyone still alive in the courtyard had their eyes on him, even with the sounds of battle echoing in the distance. Smiling, Braden continued. “The magisters sought a world that never changes, one where they could always stay at the top and revel in their power while those they deemed weak are oppressed by their tyrannical rule. They sought the past; a bygone era that has been all but swept into the annals of history. And I…I seek the future. A future where men and women of all races, backgrounds, and standings can meet one another on the same footing in society as equals. For too long has this world stagnated. For too long has it chaffed under the rule of arrogant men and women undeserving of such power. You, my brothers and sisters in arms who walk beside me on this road, let the world rejoice as we lead Thedas to a new era and a brighter tomorrow.” At end of the speech, he had reached the peak of a crescendo, the soldiers gathered cheering. “You have your assignments, and the path to victory is clear. Let us usher this world to a new dawn.” Thrusting his fist into the air, the crowd erupted into a roar.

Braden marched away, his elven companion in tow. Today was going to be a good day, even if they drenched the city in blood and burned it to the ground. His only disappointment was that not all the magisters had been present. Not surprising, really. They would inevitably try to cause problems, but that was something Braden had planned for. Victory would be meaningless without a challenge.

“So much fun,” Braden whispered with glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 4-APR-2020


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces of war move forward across Tevinter, and another faction enters the equation.

Fenris sat on the ramparts of the fort, overlooking the village of Irum, which he and his new followers had recently taken over. They had gained some new recruits, but it was not enough to nearly replace those who had been lost in the attack in the first place. Still, it was a victory. One that he had doubted could have happened, but had come about anyways.

This was not what he had had in mind when he had returned to Tevinter. He had wanted to hide, but on second thought, sparking a massive uprising against the magister would have been entertaining if it were not for the fact that he was the one leading it.

As it was, if they were to survive, they would have to withstand whatever the magisters threw at them in the coming months. They would have to take and secure as many strongholds as they could, and train the people to hold out. Slave uprisings were one of the few things the magisters would bands together against, and he had spat in their eye as far as they were concerned.

 _But where are the mages?_ Fenris thought.

Between the captain he had faced in the town, a couple of weaker mages that accompanied him, and the six they found in the fort, plus the one who had joined up with the other slaves, he had seen neither hide or hair of another mage.

_Unless…_

The Mage-Templar conflict could have easily been the cause, anyone with magical talent edging away from the potential reach of overzealous Templars. But that should have meant for a stronger border defense, not weaker.

Behind him, Rain played with a doll she had found. The girl had stayed in the village during the assault, and as soon as the fighting had stopped, ran back to Fenris’ side. It was vexing to say the least, being followed around like that.

Taking an extra second, he stood up and walked up to her.

“Rain,” Fenris called out. The girl stopped playing to look at him. Grabbing an apple, he held it out to her. “Eat.” Thankfully, the girl seemed eager to please him and promptly responded.

Noting an additional presence lingering near them, Fenris stood up. Rain immediately went back to playing, seemingly without a care in the world. Walking up to the mage who had been helping them.

“What do you want?” Fenris asked. Helpful or not, the woman was at least partially responsible for his current position.

The mage watched Rain play for a bit, then met Fenris’ eyes.

“The girl is a mage. While she has not caused any harm to herself or others outside of combat, it would be prudent for her to receive some training, if for nothing else, the sake of self-control.”

“And I take it you want to do that?”

“If you had any other mages on hand, I am sure you could ask them instead.”

“…You’re rather mouthy for a former slave.”

The woman tensed slightly. Fenris growled and rolled his eyes slightly.

“What’s your name?” Fenris asked. “I’m sure you’ll get tired of me calling you mage.”

“Lexes.”

“Let me make this clear, Lexes: I don’t trust you or any other mages. You will teach the girl what she needs to maintain control and ward off demons. Nothing more unless I give you leave.”

“I understand,” she said after a pause. “Will that be all?”

¤¤¤

Minrathous was in chaos.

The fighting had spread throughout the city. Entire blocks had been burned down. Landmarks and iconic buildings became fortresses overnight.

The lines between the Traditionalists, those seeking to preserve the old ways of Tevinter, and Industrialists, those pushing for the technological and societal advancement of the nation, had been quickly drawn out, and the Traditionalists were finding themselves short on allies within the ancient capitol.

Most of them were fleeing the city, either for the countryside to the more northern cites or making a push to take Seheron.

All in all, a successful venture in Braden’s humble opinion.

He sat at atop the Black Cathedral, currently in possession of the Industrialists. They were stealing anything of value, historical artifacts and precious metals alike. When questioned on the historical artifacts, he had replied simply:

“Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

And that was how he left it. He had thought about adding to that, but he needed them inspired and awed, not creeped out.

 _Save that part for later,_ Braden thought.

In the levels below where Braden was perched, snipers picked off enemy soldiers who strayed too close, along with anyone else they could not readily identify. Days of this routine hinted at only one thing: the enemy was preparing to assault their position.

“Here they come!” someone shouted.

Braden stepped down the stairs, grabbing a rifle, even if he had no intention of using it right away. He had practiced with the others several times, but this was their time to shine. He nodded to the captain, who turned to the snipers.

“On my signal, take out the officers.”

Showtime.

As predicted, the first shots more or less decapitated the force rallying against them. The surviving officers went next as they tried to gather their forces and consolidate. Next went the sergeants. After that, they took out archers and other targets of opportunity. Even after so many losses and the clear desire to break and run, the enemy pressed forward.

_Let’s see what’s driving them._

Stretching out his senses, Braden looked for any spikes of magical activity outside of the tower. Just outside of the perimeter, he could spot small clusters of magical signatures, Tevinter mages who goading their forces into the meat grinder.

_And what are they going to do? When are you going to make your move? How many minions are you going to throw at us until you realize you still need some meat shields to make your push?_

As expected, the enemy soldiers pulled back to lick their wounds, abandoning those too injured to move on their own.

 _That’s cold,_ Braden thought. _But not unexpected._

He continued to watch the Traditionalists scurry back into position, made more difficult with snipers picking off random soldiers. It took a few minutes, but the enemy regrouped, then swiftly surged out, this time with the mages mixing into the ranks, projecting shields over their men.

_And now for the big finale._

“Do it,” Braden ordered.

The streets surrounding the Cathedral erupted, bombs that had been placed over the last couple of days going off in a brilliant display. Braden chuckled at the sight. The mages had been expecting the attacks from above without considering the possibility of something coming from underneath.

A series of spells hit the tower, taking out some of the soldiers housed within.

“It looks like there’s some survivors down there,” Braden thought aloud. He turned the unit’s commanding officer. “Have your men prepare to withdraw as soon as we’ve finished them off. This bait has served its purpose.”

“Sir?” the man began, but Braden had already clambered out the window and jumped.

Sliding down the tower, Braden leapt off and glided down, taking some potshots at the scrambling survivors. Landing on top of a disoriented enemy soldier, he fired at those he deemed the most recovered. The enemy mages set their sights on him, even as gunfire rained form above.

Braden slung a fireball offhand, striking the one closest to him, then slid out of the way, still firing at the rest. Weaving around attacks, he closed distance on them, shielding and lobbing weak spells to keep them off balance.

Once close enough, he dropped the rifle and drew his dagger from its sheath. His hands freer than before, he threw up a wall of ice, giving him time to trigger a miniature earthquake on the other side. Grabbing a corpse, he infused it with enough energy to become a bomb and chucked it at the wall.

Jumping through the gap, he pounced on the first target, slashing his throat open. More shots flew from the Cathedral windows, striking most of the rest. A lone survivor charged up one final spell.

With a smirk, Braden cancelled the spell before it left the man’s hands. Seeing the panic in his eyes, Braden stepped on the man’s chest and dropped his dagger into the man’s eye.

¤¤¤

Knight-Captain Hannah shifted in her seat, dressed in commoner clothing typically found in Tevinter. Three of her fellows had dressed similarly, the rest moving off to set up a camp nearby.

Their mission was unsanctioned; no time to send word to anyone. Sure, she could argue that they were simply doing their Maker-given duties, but there was much at stake, and the possibility of sparking a third front in a war that was already straining the Templars, it would not be just her who paid for failure.

Her assembled team looked at her expectantly. She took a deep breath.

“Remember:” she began. “Don’t do anything that will draw attention to ourselves. We are in the presence of enemies from here on out. Accomplish our mission, and then withdraw before our identities can be discovered.”

Grabbing their gear, some food and easily concealable weapons, they stepped out onto the road to Tevinter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 4-APR-2020


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The civil war in Tevinter heats up as both factions of rebels gain ground as the Traditionalists are forced to retreat.

Braden wove through the encampment outside of Asaerie, most of his traveling companions having been dismissed to rest after their journey. He and his bodyguards had run through a small number of ambushes along the way. Pitiful attempts at the face of things, but their persistence was nonetheless commendable.

“Lord Braden, what a surprise,” Xanthus said, approaching with his own entourage.

“I’m not a lord any longer, Xanthus,” Braden replied.

“Even so, you’re still our acknowledged leader. What brings you out this far? Is Minrathous under our control already?”

“If only. No, but neither is it under the control of the magisters. Our operations in the capitol can carry on without my direct intervention. It’s why I selected the men I did.”

“True enough. What brings you out here?”

“Doing some house calls, and this was my first stop. How’s the siege going?”

“As well as expected. We’ve cut them off from all resupplies and we’ve been shooting anything seen flying in or out of the city. Our mortars have scattered them, but they have people watching us as well, alerting them any time we try to advance.”

“Quite the conundrum, yes.”

“I’ve sent some scouting patrols out to keep enemy reinforcements off our backs and to disrupt other supply lines. We’ve gotten a number of luxuries that way.”

“Heh. Anything else happening that I should be aware of.”

“Not at this time.”

“Hmm…let’s mix things up. Shall we?”

Xanthus was about to ask for a clarification when the familiarly hooded companion walked out of the shadows. “Ah, yes. Of course. How soon should I have the men ready?”

“The sooner the better. Just be sure to do it all quiet like.”

“As you command, Braden.”

-¤¤¤-

Hannah mingled with the crowd of Irum. Mixed in with the atmosphere of apprehension, there was celebration. It had not taken long to find out why.

An elf had arrived little more than a week before Hannah’s team’s arrival. Drawing the attention of the local garrison, the elf fought back, even killing the mages in charge before leading a team into the local fortress.

Not long after, he rallied any able-bodied volunteers to make for Perivantium. A token force remained, some old men, cripples, women, and no small number of children ferrying supplies and messages across the meager defenses as they moved into the fortress up the hill.

Kellis walked up and sat on the bench next to his superior.

“Found anything?” Hannah asked.

“A description that matches what we know:” Kellis replied. “Silver hair, green eyes, carried a greatsword.”

“Anything about a girl accompanying him?”

“Not the one we’re looking for. Apparently he has a mage under his employ. An adult.”

“From what I heard, I thought he hated mages. I wonder what caused that to change.” Sitting up, Hannah looked around. “Have you seen Saldor or Mangiene?”

“Not since we split up.”

Hannah sighed and glanced up and down the street, with no sign of the other members of her team.

“As soon as we regroup with the others, we need to leave. I get the feeling we are being watched.”

-¤¤¤-

A downpour buffeted the rebels as they marched towards Perivantium. Had he gone with an earlier plan, they would have been on their Marothius instead, but the road was rougher and a little too close to the established battlements of the Qunari front. They needed to establish a proper base of support and operations before risking the tougher targets.

Fenris had been fielding complaints for a better portion of the trip. It was difficult maintaining rations, and most of the men he was leading had scarcely any training with weapons. Those that did were helping him heard the rest across the countryside to try and conquer a city of more than a hundred thousand.

Perivantium was situated on the northeastern portion of the Silent Plains. Not the most defensible of the major cities of Tevinter, but was the most likely to capitulate when subjected to the necessary stress.

Word of their endeavors had spread, and a small number of minor villages offered their aid, even adding a few more to the “army’s” numbers, making for a total of three-hundred and fourteen fighters plus some support elements. In all likelihood, even they would be forced to take up arms when the magisters got their act together and moved to suppress the uprising.

The city rose into view, roads stretching out empty of any visible sign that someone was coming. Though it was possible that there were others traveling more discretely, traveling without torches in the dark; it was what Fenris was having his men do. Within the city itself, bonfires burned brightly into the night, trails of smoke leading into the cloudy skies.

Signaling the company to halt, Fenris turned to address his followers.

“Scouting parties, spread out and see what may be out there waiting for us. Everyone else, set up camp. This may be a while.”

Leading his own team along the road, Fenris kept his head below the grass. The plains were hard to keep clear during the rainy seasons, but to allow a potential weakness in your fortresses defenses…

_What is going on?_

The gates were wide open.

Pressing closer, Fenris saw that there were not even any gate guards, not a soul keeping an eye out on the ways into the city.

“Move forward,” he whispered. “Quietly.”

The streets were empty of people as they were a mess. Signs of battle were plain, but nothing that would be indicative of combat magic. The buildings were still intact, but windows were knocked out and carts were overturned here and there.

One of Fenris’ underlings shrugged at the sight, but pointed to his ear, then down the street. Nodding, Fenris noticed an indistinct clamor drifting up the streets.

Making their way to the sound, they found the way blocked by a toppled building, the fires the felled it having long grown cold. Fenris’ team climbed over the ruins and into the more intact building adjacent to it, gaining a vantage point of the scene below.

In the market square, a mob had gathered around a pile of rubbish. Four people were tied to poles standing out from the center. The man at the forefront was dressed in a gaudy, slipshod garment, one he was clearly not used to wearing.

Raising his hand, the crowd before him quieted.

“Here, I bring you more sympathizers to the magisters,” the man said, his nasally voice piercing the crisp air. “They try to cling to the orders of their ‘masters’, defying the new order-“

“Clear out, the lot of you!” someone ordered, cutting off the speech. A detachment of soldiers moved in, shields pointed at the gathering. At the front was a man wearing a worn officer’s uniform. His beard was unkempt, unbecoming of someone in charge by Tevinter standards.

The mob leader sneered at the guards’ appearance.

“These lapdogs of the magister wish to silence us,” he drawled. “Will you let them?”

The mob turned on the guards, who were standing ready for battle. But before the two sides could come to blows. Fenris leaped out of the window, throwing his hood back. He flared off his powers, becoming partially ethereal, but more importantly, drawing all attention to him.

“Enough!” he barked.

Many of the mob panicked at the sight of the glowing elf carrying the massive sword, running off before unspeakable horrors could possibly be inflicted upon them.

“Hold fast,” the mob leader shouted, though his confidence wavered. For a while, everyone stood and stared at each other.

“Is this what you’ve become?” Fenris asked.

“What?” someone in the crowd asked. The guard-captain appraised the newcomer, but silently signaled his men to hold fast.

“Right now, the magisters would be laughing at you all as you squabbling amongst yourselves. You,” Fenris pointed at the rabble-rouser. “Get out of my sight. You aren’t helping.”

Like a whipped dog, the man fled, tripping over his clothes. Fenris climbed up to where the mob leader had been before and looked out to the people he had gathered. While fearful of his appearance, they seemed interested in what he had to say.

“Spread the word: gather before the palace at noon. Tell them that the Ghost-Wolf would speak with them.”

As the crowd dispersed, the guards climbed onto the pile.

“Cut them down from there,” the captain commanded. He then approached Fenris. “You have my gratitude. I doubt I would have been able to disperse them half as effectively as you did. I am Jericho, commander of what’s left of the city guard. Would you mind telling me what you are doing here?”

“Good question,” Fenris replied.

-¤¤¤-

The night air was crisp and cool, the wind blowing in from the north, which is why most of those not patrolling the walls were huddling around a small fire.

“Nice night out for a good pipe.”

Both guards wheeled around to face the silhouette above them. His cossack billowed in the wind, black as the sky.

“Who are you?” they demanded.

Though he was shadowed, it was clear that he was smiling. It was as if you could _hear_ his smile.

“I am a nightmare,” Braden answered. A flight of arrows struck those at the back, and then Braden fell on them, dagger and staff in hand.

-¤¤¤-

Fenris followed Jericho through the palace grounds, which had seen better days. Furniture was strewn about the grounds, then shoved into barricades. More guards were milling about, keeping an eye or ear for trouble. They rose to greet their commander and the strange elf he was leading past them.

“It’s a good thing the riots have died down for the night,” Jericho said. “You didn’t have as many people to intimidate.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“That’s something of a story,” Jericho said, taking a seat. “When the governor left, we were put on guard. Not a clue why, but it was clear that something big was happening outside the walls. I was not even a captain then.” Jericho sighed. “Then a week later, a message comes in, and overnight, the rest of the city’s ruling body leaves with all their retainers, guards, slaves, and whatever arms and supplies they could carry out, then anyone else of importance followed suit. Once it was clear there was no one really watching, pandemonium set in. Slowly at first, but then it all began to fall apart faster than you could blink. I think it just took a while to sink in, to realize that the magisters weren’t coming back anytime soon. I have no idea what that message said, but something spooked the lords and ladies.”

“Do you think the Qunari might have made a move?” Fenris asked.

“Like I said, I have no idea. Word has been scarce as of late.”

“What else could it be? What could be out there that would convince the magisters to abandon their holdings so quickly?”

Jericho shrugged. “Whatever it is, I must admit that you have an uncanny timing.”

“How so?” Fenris asked.

“I think the worst of the riots have died down. Now it’s a matter of waiting to see who organizes the disparate factions under their rule. If you’re here to take over, you might not face much in the way of active resistance. If you taking over means this mess dying down, you have my support.”

“Even if that means possibly being dragged into a war?”

“If it means the people are spending more time looking out for fighting then inside the city for it, I welcome it.”

“I see. If that is the case, if you have any experienced men, I would like to begin training my own army.”

“I imagine you can house your people somewhere around here. Just make sure you keep them in line. You think you can do it? Fill the gap the magisters left, I mean?”

Taking a breath, Fenris looked out at the city.

“We’ll see.”

When the next day rolled around, Fenris could see people trickling in from every which direction. By afternoon, the streets were filled with throngs, with more leaning and hanging out of windows to catch a glimpse of the newcomer.

_All of this in such a short time?_ Fenris thought. _Let’s get this over with._

Stepping out into view, the murmuring tapered off.

“People of Perivantium, I am Fenris, the Ghost-Wolf. The magisters have abandoned you. Instead of taking the city for yourselves, you have turned it to ruin. While you have been tearing the city apart, the magisters have been laughing amongst themselves." More than a few embarrassed individuals glanced at each other. "Are you going to keep giving them the satisfaction, that you are simply a mindless rabble that will burn out in time so they can step back in when the dust settles?" Fenris voice range up across the square. "I say no! I say we take this opportunity. It’s time for you to build something from what they discarded. The question that remains is who will stand with me? Who will aid me in breaking the shackles?”

The crowd erupted into cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Originally posted 1-JUL-2016
> 
> Holy crap! I did not expect this chapter to take so much effort to hammer out. On the plus side, I’m in a position to take some other previously written snippets for the next chapter, so the wait should be short. Time will tell how much shorter.
> 
> Updated as of 4-APR-2020


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Traditionalists shift their focus to distant shores, the Qunari make their move on mainland Thedas, and both rebel factions of Tevinter continue to expand their borders and horizons.

21st of Matrinalis, 9:38 Dragon

It had been minutes since he had returned to Perivantium and Fenris had already called for a meeting. Jericho had already gathered the rest of the local advisors. The moment he stepped through the door, all eyes were on him. The result of months of negotiations represented in the room.

All in all, Fenris was uncomfortable with the amount of power vested to him. He could only hope to prove worthy of their trust.

Settling at the end of the table, he nodded to Jericho.

“What news do you have for me?” he inquired.

Severus, the man in charge of agriculture, was the first to speak up.

“Lightly put, the harvest was rather measly. While we might be able to hold out for a mild winter, we are going to be pinched.”

Fenris hummed. “We’re lucky to have gotten anything at all, given how late we started.”

“The road into Antiva is still unobstructed. We’ve been blessed with an abundance of relatively fair weather.”

“Have we had any more issues with raiders?”

“Nothing we haven’t been able to handle so far,” Oswald replied. One of the soldiers under Jericho’s command, Oswald had been in charge of keeping the fledgling enterprise together. So far, he had lived up to Jericho’s recommendation.

“Keep me apprised,” Fenris said.

“It’s strange,” said Jericho, “We haven’t seen hide or hair of the magisters since they left. No messengers, no attempts at sabotage.”

“They have been remarkably quiet.”

Fenris looked at the map of Tevinter laid out over the table. Tokens marked the cities that his people had established contact with. The western side of the country was practically devoid of them.”

“How has our expansion been going?” he asked. “Any problems?”

“The story is the same most places we visit. Magisters gone, people left to their own devices. A few of them were like Perivantium. Others are carrying on like Irum, mostly the smaller cities.” Fenris contemplated the map’s representation of the city in question. “Our reputation appears to be growing. More cities are joining our cause, even of their own volition, before our messengers ever arrive. Neromenian and Vyrantium are now allied with us, a number of minor cities in between have thrown their lot in with ours…”

“But...”

“Marothius is proving to be a tough nut to crack. Last word I heard from our people is that there is some provisional leadership that is slowing the proceedings.”

“It has been months since we laid siege,” someone commented. 

“Yes, and despite our efforts, they still hold the city.”

Sighing, Fenris ran his hand through his hair. “Keep pressing.”

“Have you heard the latest news from the west?” Oswald asked.

“We’ve actually heard something?” Jericho mused.

“Mostly hearsay, but enough of a trend that I think it explains why we’ve encountered so little resistance.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Apparently, one of the magisters incited his own rebellion, nearly the same time as our own. He killed the archon and effectively wiped out the Imperial Senate, burned them all to a crisp they say. Anyways, he and his Industrialists have been pushing to the west, taking it by storm.”

“The Industrialists?”

“That’s what they’re calling themselves. The magisters and their allies are being referred to as the Traditionalists.”

Eyes settling the west side of the map, Fenris squinted. “We’re stretched thin enough as it is. Does he have eyes set towards the east yet?”

“Could hardly tell. I doubt we’ll have much forewarning or chance of counter-attack if he does.”

“Explain.”

“Their leader supposedly granted his followers power to fight mages on equal footing, new weapons that are like the Qunari cannons, but small enough to be wielded by any able bodied person. They gutted Minrathous in a week and despite their initially small numbers, they have taken nearly every major city they have encountered. One city was taken practically overnight.”

“Flames,” Severus gasped.

“How do we stop that?” someone else whispered.

“You’re certain their leader was a magister?” Fenris asked. “What is his name?”

“Braden Miletus,” Oswald answered. “He has some other magisters working with him, but I don’t know their names.”

There was murmuring in the room.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Fenris said, raising a hand. “The harvest season is almost over. I say we finish consolidating our holdings right now. We keep an eye to our borders, but work at living through the winter. How are our present defenses?

“I can at least trust that they can hold out against bandits and raiders,” Jericho replied, “but against a well-organized military, I imagine we’ll have some difficulty until they’ve been bloodied some. And speaking of organized militaries, our reports indicate that the Qunari are launching another offensive against the northern shores, but the numbers are somewhat lacking.”

“Meaning?” Serverus asked.

“Tevinter has been at war with the Qunari since they first landed on our shores,” Fenris answered. “Everyone has been expecting a repeat of their first invasion, but for them to send so few for an attack…”

“It could be that the Traditionalists shifted their focus to Seheron,” said Jericho.

“That would be good to know.” Standing up, he swept his gaze across the room. “If there’s nothing else, this meeting is adjourned.”

Stepping back, Fenris watched the others leave the room.

Before the meeting, he had managed to catch a glimpse of Rain in the middle of her tutoring sessions. Rain had made excellent progress with her lessons with Lexes.

Fenris found himself at a loss of what to think. Dealing with mages was something he never envisioned himself doing when he left Danarius. Hawke had done much to change that.

Maker forbid he actually grow attached to a mage.

Standing up straight, he rolled his shoulders back. He did not trust Lexes, regardless of her willingness to join him, there was no telling what she could be up to.

-¤¤¤-

Hannah wove through the streets of Perivantium with a bundle of goods slung over her back. Armed patrols walked around, equipped with a hodgepodge of arms and armor recovered or recently made. They eyed her the same as they did everyone else, not sparing her an extra glance.

She sighed for the nth time that day.

What had begun as traces of resistance had mutated to a full-blown uprising, and the Templar infiltrators had been caught in the middle of it. A mission that should have taken a few weeks at most had been dragged into four months with no end in sight, chasing the rebel leader across the land. Anytime they had gotten close to Fenris, he had moved on to another city.

Perivantium had become the center of his domain. Waiting for him had been for the best. This was the closest they had gotten, and Hannah did not want to waste the opportunity.

Once she was certain no one was watching, she stepped out of the street and into an alleyway. Casting one last look over her shoulder, she slipped into the hideout where she found Kellis and Saldor tying a rambling man to a chair.

“He is a ghost,” the prisonor said. “A terror come to slay the unfaithful.”

“Who is this?” Hannah asked.

“Some crackpot we found,” Saldor replied. “Blathering about our target. Figured you would want to talk to him.”

“Does he have any information that would help us?”

“You seek the ghost?” the man asked. Hannah looked at him pointedly. The Ghost-Wolf was the name Fenris had been going by since his rise in the city.

“How do you know him?”

“He swept in, a blaze of blue light. He was among us, but not.”

“What can you tell us about Fenris?”

“He leads the people against the magisters, against the ox-men.”

“Get rid of him. I doubt he knows anything useful.”

“Very well,” Saldor replied.

“And after we went through all that trouble getting him,” Kellis complained. Hannah ignored the comment as she tossed the bundle to him. “Do you think anyone is still waiting for us?” he asked.

“I can answer that,” Mangiene said slipping into the hideout, brushing past Saldor and their former guest.

“I see you returned to us safely,” Hannah said. “You say you have word.”

“We’ve been cut loose,” she answered. “None of the others are waiting at our rendezvous.”

Kellis took inhaled sharply.

“We can still keep going,” Hannah replied.

“Why? He’s surrounded by an army, and he hasn’t made any moves that would indicate his attentions moving outside of Tevinter. And if we’re all being perfectly honest, I think we should be more concerned about this Braden fellow.”

“The renegade magister?” Kellis asked, to which Mangiene nodded.

“And there is still the matter of the war we should be fighting.”

Hannah rubbed her fingers along her temples. It had been a long time since she had been at such a loss. Standing up, she addressed her fellows.

“We came here to hunt down one of the ones responsible for the war. There is no telling what he will do once he’s built himself a nation. For all we know, the rest are building Hawke an army.”

“I need some air to think while I plan our next course of action.”

Hannah climbed the battered staircase to the top floor of the building they had made their temporary home. No one else lived there, as most of the structure had been burned. While it offered a level of security and anonymity, it made any sound suspicious. For instance, the sound of someone suddenly talking to her.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

Standing stock-straight, Hannah turned to look at the figure addressing her.

She had an odd presence around her, tightly woven, but pulsing outward like a heartbeat. Gold eyes stared out from under the hood of her cloak, a blandly colored, ratty looking thing that reminded Hannah of the stories involving old hags, but from what she could tell, the woman addressing her was neither old nor a hag. It was then that Hannah recognized the feeling she had.

“You’re the one who has been following us,” Hannah concluded.

The woman quietly laughed. “Smart girl,” the woman said. “Perhaps there is hope for you.”

“What do you want?” Hannah asked.

“What indeed.”

Resting her hand on her dagger, Hannah fixed her guest with a glare. “I have no time for games.”

“Yes, always so dedicated to work. But if you wish to cut the chase short, the man you seek is not your true enemy. I would advise making peace with him.”

“What do you mean? Explain yourself!”

“I’ve already conveyed my message, and I typically refrain from doing any more than leaving mildly cryptic warnings. And while normally I would enjoy talking your ear off if given half the opportunity, time is short.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, the sway of her hips accented by the sound of shifting armor.

“Hannah?”

Whipping around, Hannah resisted the urge to reach for her sword. Saldor looked at her worriedly. When she looked back, the woman was gone.

“How…?” Hannah breathed.

“What is it?” Saldor asked.

“Did you see someone talking to me?”

“No. Why?”

Reeling in her thoughts, she gathered herself up and walked past the other Templar.

“It was nothing,” Hannah answered.

-¤¤¤-

General Corinthus watched the battle lines from afar. Craters speckles the beaches of the northern point of Tevinter. In the distance, flashes of light lit up the clouds of fog that clung the coastline, even in the height of daylight, the signs of cannon fire that heralded another barrage that struck the battlements. Soldiers zipped around him, moving ammunition to the batteries overlooking the coastline as they responded in kind. The battle-mages and mortars alike took to hit-and-run tactics, never staying in one place long enough for the enemy to zero in on them.

“What’s the situation, general?” Braden asked. The old general nearly fell backwards at the man’s sudden appearance.

How does he do that? He wondered, but quickly remembered himself. “Sir, the ox-men moved in overnight, wiping out the Traditionalist garrison before dawn. While they were settling in, I moved our troops in to catch them off balance with mixed success. They’ve taken to their ships, bombarding the fortress while moving more of their forces up the coast. We’ve shored up our defenses along the main breaches, but we’re taking a pounding from their guns.”

Idly wandering to the overlook, he squinted and frowned slightly. “You’ve erected barriers, yes?”

“Of course, sir. However, repeated and extended incursions have forced us to minimize exposing them for long periods of time, not to mention that we’ve suffered our share of carnage from their attacks.”

Braden stared out over the battlements and the waters beyond. “Hm…very well.” Braden spun on his toes and stalked off. “Another battalion will be here shortly

“Are you not going to partake in the battle?”

Braden slowed himself, looking over his shoulder with an enigmatic smirk.

“There are times when I need to intervene, and times when others have to show their own strengths and win their spurs.” Resuming his course, he continued out. “This is a time to show that the New Tevinter, not Braden Miletus, is a foe worthy of being feared.”

Once out of sight, the former magister quietly chuckled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 6-APR-2020


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opposing factions meet, and an enemy's movements become known.

Braden sat in his acquired office, feet on the table as he sat in front of the fire. The war was going well…for him and his at least. For everyone else, it was rather bittersweet or a complete downer.

The Traditionalists apparently fled the mainland at the cost of much of their old territory, but finally taking most of Seheron. The land was hotly contested, but it was mostly the locals that were making a ruckus. Meanwhile, the Qunari were making a play for territory they thought abandoned. While his own forces were giving the ox-men a beating, along the eastern shores, it was some of the remaining Traditionalists forces holding out.

Also on the eastern side was the new rebel leader, eroding the backbone of the Traditionalist strongholds that still remained, taking up their resources and otherwise making life difficult for the Traditionalists. Braden always welcomed someone taking the hits while his own forces tightened their grip around the cities they had already taken.

That was not to say that his forces were running freely amok across the western Tevinter countryside. Between the Traditionalist forces still based in the mainland and the assaults from the Qunari, it was shaping into something of a slogfest.

Smiling, Braden slouched into his seat, proud of his accomplishments.

The door handle began creaking, then was slammed open. A pair of arrows flew at Braden’s face, but missed by virtue of the target leaning the chair backwards, falling to the floor and rolling to a crouch.

Braden rolled his eyes and sighed as he stood up. “You know, some would find it rude intruding like this. But, I guess, turnabout _is_ fair play in the end.” He squared off against the intruders and charged a bolt of lightning, then his he felt a wave wash over his magic, snuffing the spell. “Ah, Templars. Imperial Templars at that. I was beginning to wonder where you had all gotten off to.”

Snatching his dagger from the table, he faced down his assassins.

“Six of you, huh? Pleased to think that the surviving magisters think so highly of me. I assume there are others waiting outside, yes?”

No answer.

“Silent treatment. Fine, I get it. Whenever you’re ready.”

Two of them stepped forward, blades in hand. Braden blocked and parried, stepping back as the assassin’s pressed their attack. The others maneuvered around the room, pulling out bows.

Grabbing a paper weight off of the table, Braden chucked it at the furthest archer, forcing the man to duck as his target vaulted over the desk and shoved it at his pursuers with his foot. The assassins were skilled enough to evade, but it gave Braden enough space to engage them individually, slashing a throat open and literally disarming the other.

Braden hummed approvingly. “Smart of you, not coming at me all at once. However…”

Throwing his dagger, it drove into his target’s chest, knocking him against the wall. The other archer barely flinched as his partner’s demise, and the other assassins closed in.

They tried to push him into a corner or to a window, but he led them in circles in the center of the room until he could make a go at the other archer, snapping the man’s neck and hurling him at his fellows.

“Surely you can do better,” Braden taunted. Underneath their helmets, he could hear them sneer.

Snatching a spear hanging from the wall, he jumped up onto his desk, twirling the weapon in his hands and catching the closest man along the neck and smashing his next friend in the face with the pommel.

The third man grabbed the weapon and pulled, but was surprised when his opponent flowed with it, kicking him in the face on the way down. The momentary lapse of vigilance found him strangling and dangling with the spear holding him against his target’s back as he kick-boxed the other two

With a sudden jerk, Braden torqued his victim’s head to an unnatural angle, breaking the spear in the process, and drove the pieces into the other two, striking their necks where their armor did not cover as well.

The doors behind him were kicked open, ushering in the remaining assassins, to which Braden could only sigh in exasperation.

A click at his sleeves, Braden whirled around, hands raised, and tugged on the released at his sleeves, lighting up the room with a series of pops. Gravity did the rest and sent their corpses crashing to the floor.

¤¤¤

While maintaining an air of stoicism, Fenris clenched his jaw tightly as he surveyed the scene of carnage before him.

What should have been a potential allied village was reduced to a jumbled mess of rubble with mangled corpses stuffed inside.

Fenris’ nose wrinkled; the place reeked of magic. Not the presence, but the concentrations, and the still smoldering buildings and the lack of decaying bodies indicated a recent tragedy.

“Spread out and search for survivors,” he ordered.

The survivors, few as they were, were limited to those who were fortunate to have been away at the time of the catastrophe, were picking through the ruins in vain hope that someone had escaped the carnage.

“Thank you.”

Fenris nodded his head. Gratitude from others was still something he was uneasy about, especially from Tevinter. If it weren’t for those he had been helping, he would have taken off a long time ago to avoid the awkwardness.

Shaking his head, he continued to make his way through the wreckage, finding Lexes staring blankly at the destruction, unheeding of her boss’ approach. He was practically standing behind her when he made his presence known.

“I assume you recognize what transpired.” It was less a question and more statement.

She snapped out of whatever trance she had fallen into, reaching to her collar, idly stroking metal surface.

“It brought up some…bitter memories.” Shaking her head, she turned towards Fenris. “But yes, I know the signs. Abomination. Not a strong one, but more than capable of-” she waved her hand over the ruins. “-This.”

Working alongside Hawke had given Fenris more encounters with abominations than he would ever care to for a hundred lifetimes. Seeing the handiwork of one still soured the pit of his stomach.

“Boss, we found something!”

The remains of the abomination was found buried…along with the man who had achieved a nominal victory of bringing his foe down before succumbing to the numerous injuries sustained.

“Any clue as to who it was?”

“He’s a Templar,” Debiel declared.

That caught Fenris’ attention. “What would a Val Royeaux Templar be doing here?”

“How can you tell?”

“An Imperial Templar would have no reason to attempt traveling disguised within their own country.”

“What if they’re Imperial Templars and they’re just trying to sneak in? Information gathering?”

“It could be. But that brings into question why one of their own would intervene in a hostile village.”

“That would be because of me.”

Fenris resisted the urge to reach for his sword, but turned to face the voice’s source, a fair-haired woman dressed as a commoner. She walked past him with a martial sort of grace, kneeling over the fallen Templar, she closed his eyes and whispered a soft prayer.

“Saldor was a good man,” she said after she finished. “I suppose you would be Fenris, yes?”

“I am,” he answered gruffly. “I’m more curious as to who you are, and what business a Templar has in Tevinter.”

“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to lie. My name is Hannah. I was originally sent to detain you for your role in the ignition of hostilities between the Templar Order and the Circle of Magi. But then you disappeared into Tevinter, and then…” She waved her hand at the rest of the rebels in the area.

Fenris snorted. “You’re looking for the wrong man. And I haven’t seen Hawke in nearly a year. And Anders disappeared before that.”

Hannah glowered slightly. “Indeed. As I was saying, my original intention was to track you down on behalf of the Templar Order. A number of recent events have rendered that mission moot, by my own estimation and that of my superiors.”

“Is that so?”

Rain had hidden herself behind Lexes, nervously looking up at the Templar. When Hannah approached, the collared mage repositioned herself as the Templar kneeled to eye-level with the young girl, smoothing her features as best as she could. Rain still shrank behind the other mage, who raised her arm to shield her.

“You have nothing to fear from me, child,” she said softly.

The girl was not entirely placated, but some of the tension bled from her shoulders and she ventured a look before hastily retreating once more.

“I doubt you’ll find her very cooperative, after what your fellows did to her family.

Hannah exhaled softly and rose to height again, locking stares with Fenris.

“If you would allow it, I would have an audience with you.” Hannah glanced over her shoulder, staring beyond her immediate surroundings. “Preferably in more private setting.”

¤¤¤

Dusk fell gently on the old warehouse district of Vol Dolma. Braden swaggered through the complex, a bounce in his step, his assistant trailing behind him. After the initial uprising, the leader of the Industrialists had ordered the research division to relocate there. Heavily renovated, the structure was chosen for its relative isolation from the rest of the populace, a measure for security and safety alike.

What brought Braden today was that he had received a missive from the man in charge.

Normally, such minute happenings were left to those whose time was specifically devoted to the task. However, the senior researcher had come across something that exceeded his knowledge base and that of his colleagues and confederates.

“What do you think of it, dearie?”

The elf gave him a scrutinous look, only for Braden to smile wider. “Of what?”

“The ‘special’ package, of course. Certainly you find something about this fascinating.”

“I’m not here to investigate every idle curiosity that finds its way into Tevinter,” she answered clippedly.

“Bah. You’re being stiffer than usual.”

“And you more energetic.”

“Maybe it’s something in the air. It has been some time since we’ve done anything noteworthy together.”

She gave him a reproachful look, but said nothing else as they arrived at their destination, which was positively abuzz with activity. The guards stood a bit straighter, holding weapons a bit more tightly than before and saluted him in passing.

“Good evening, sir,” the senior ranked guard hailed.

“Same to you,” Braden answered cheerily.

“Here to see the old man?”

“Among other things, but yes.”

“After you, then.”

The doors swung open, allowing the party inside. Before long, they came across an older man huddled with younger counterparts. Only vaguely aware of what was happening around them. The many they were looking for did not notice their approach until his name was called and one younger pupils tapped him on the shoulder.

The aged scientist looked up, eyes twinkling in the low lights. “Master Braden. This is a surprise.”

“Are you really surprised that I am me?” Braden chuckled lightly.

The old man smiled gracefully, well-accustomed to his patron’s eccentricities. “I’m surprised you troubled yourself for a visit so soon, especially with all that normally occupies your time.”

“It is no trouble. What do you have for me, Byron? I trust your prime project hasn’t suffered from the latest excitement.”

“A difficult venture, synthesizing lyrium. One that has proven to be a difficult challenge. I’ve consulted a number of colleagues still present on these shores, but most have little to offer. That being said, we have made some breakthroughs. Last week, we came up with a dust variant, though it burns rather quickly. Much too quickly. Curiously, the smoke left behind was akin to that of Qunari cannons.”

“Intriguing. I trust you’ve retained the notes from that experiment.”

“Indeed we did, sir. Recreated it, too, albeit under more controlled circumstances.”

“Fantastic news! Now, I believe you said you had found something of note…what seems to be the matter?”

“I…I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. It would be best to show you.”

“I would have asked to see it, anyway.”

Snapping his fingers, Byron turned to one of the runners. “Retrieve the package and deliver it to the back room.”

Led to the rear of the facility, they were met by some of his men carrying a heavy-looking chest with thick, sturdy walls. Setting it down, they bowed out, leaving the trio alone with the parcel.

“A chest,” Braden mused. “I take it you want to show me what is inside.”

“The boys found this in a warehouse after the men guarding it attacked them. Rather fanatically, I hear. As a precaution, I had them put it in this chest and placed it in isolated storage and under guard. We briefly inspected the contents, but it produced an… ominous aura that appeared to be influencing the men guarding it. No one has been allowed near it since.”

The lock released loudly and suddenly, popping the chest’s lid open, coughing up a small puff of dust. Sitting at the bottom of the container was a stone, cylindrical in shape, barely longer than the width of his hand and as wide as his thumb twice over, red in color and faintly illuminating the inside. As weak as the light it gave off, it pulsed angrily under the increased scrutiny.

Like a cloud passing over the sun, Braden’s eyes darkened, ominously reflecting the dim, red glow of the material. The man muttered something guttural under his breath as he approached.

Byron glanced at Braden. “Beg your pardon, sir?”

“Nothing,” Braden replied, reaching out to the chest.

“Sir, if this is what I understand it to be, no one should be handling this. Especially-”

Striking his hand out, Braden plucked the red material from the chest. The elderly research’s breath hitched as he stared at his superior. Braden hummed to himself idly, twirling the object between his fingers, tossing it into the air before snatching at the apex of its arc and placing it near his ear.

“It’s singing,” he said eventually. “I can’t hear it entirely, but its song is crude, sour. A cacophony of malignance.” Ignoring the stares of confusion, he lowered the object from his head and held it out in front of him. “You know what lyrium is, yes?”

“Is this a trick question, sir?”

“Hardly.” Putting the item up to his nose, he gave it a quick sniff. “Some older cultures believed there to be massive creatures of stone that move through the depths of the world, and this is their blood. Others think it’s a substance directly from the Fade, a gift the Maker. In reality, it’s a bit of both, but at the same neither. This…” His words trailed off into a rough and guttural, but arguably poetic sounding phrase. Or a prayer.

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with that phrase, sir. Or the language, for that matter.”

Braden let his arm fall to his side. “You’re right. This is corrupted lyrium.” He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “Thank you, Byron. You may leave.”

Recognizing the dismissal, he withdrew from the room, closing the door softly behind him. Alone in the room, save for his assistant, who looked on passively as Braden held the piece up to the low lights, still humming a melody that followed no reason except its own.

“It appears we have less time than anticipated,” Braden finally said, holding the red lyrium up to the light. 

A slight squeeze from the man’s fingers, the object began to implode, consuming itself in a blaze of light, leaving no trace of its existence.

Much in the same manner the cloud had fallen over the room, it hastily dissipated. Braden stared off into the distance before his mouth twisted into a beatific smirk once more.

“Shall we go?” he chirped, shaking the dust from his hands.

Emerging from the room, they were met by Byron, who eagerly anticipated his superior’s words.

As if anticipating his thought, Braden answered. “Nothing anymore.”

A pregnant paused lingered, then Byron nodded knowingly. “Of course, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 6-APR-2020


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As questions continue to pile up, Fenris is visited by an old friend.

In a twist of fate and irony, the Templar was in the best position to slay her longtime quarry, but circumstances, conviction, and general decency demanded that she stay her blade. Hannah followed at a cautious pace behind the rebel, keeping her distance from his back.

Yet, even with a former enemy at his back still armed and of dubious allegiance, Fenris moved like a warrior, fearless and conservative in his motions. He did not even glance over his shoulder, even if some of his people warily regarded her presence, but they soon dismissed her when their leader seemed unconcerned with her at his back.

He stopped at one of the few standing buildings in the town had been hastily patched up and sequestered for his use and gestured for her to enter, following promptly after her and jumped straight to business..

“You wished to speak to me in private,” he growled. “Talk.”

“I figure you won’t care much of covering old trails, so I will cut to the chase.” Hannah sat down on a battered bench and began. “I came into Tevinter following you and…Rain, was it? Admittedly, my thoughts might have been oriented towards revenge, what with you slaying my brothers and sisters.”

Fenris fixed her with a stare. “I killed them after they slaughtered an entire household for harboring me, even though they had not known I was even there. As for Rain, it was either leave her to the elements with her family, or bring her with me, even if she was more than she initially appeared.” He glanced in the direction of the girl. “As for what transpired in Kirkwall, I am well aware of the Templar Order’s opinion of those they believed responsible. I wouldn’t have dared to venture into Tevinter otherwise.”

“Be that as it may, your more recent actions would be cause for concern, both within the Order and without. Before certain revelations, I would have believed you are the greatest threat after Hawke and Anders.”

“Meaning something changed. Then why come to me?”

“I suppose you could say I was persuaded. Are you familiar with a crone living in Perivantium?”

Fenris thought for a moment. “None in particular come to mind. Why do you ask?”

“While trailing you and hoping to find a way to apprehend or eliminate you, I was approached by a very odd woman.”

“What can you tell me about this…’odd woman’.”

“Very little, regrettably. She wore a heavy cloak and had drawn her hood to obscure her face. She advised that I join you, warning of a greater threat than you.”

“A flimsy reason to prompt such a drastic change in your mission.”

“I struggle to fathom what she could be referring to, but we are facing a crisis unlike any other we have faced since the First Blight.”

“Many other conflicts have come and gone that have jeopardized the balance of the world before.”

“Is that so? Orlais is split in two, Tevinter has fractured, something that you are currently aiding, deliberate or otherwise, the Qunari have begun assaulting our shores once more, even if in limited capacity. Dalish gathering in unprecedented numbers. There were the attacks in the Anderfels, Neverra, and along the Orlesian border. And on top of all of that, the Templars and Mages are tearing the world apart. If you told me the world was starting the pull apart at the seams, I would not be all that surprised.”

“And you think this is the result of a single guiding will?”

“Conflict toppling power and delivering it steadily into the hands of an up and coming revolutionary? It strikes me as more than a little suspicious.” She hissed a breath, shaking her head. “Everything I’ve heard of him of the past few months makes him out like a cult leader instead of a head of state. Grand tales of seemingly impossible exploits and loud proclamations of his abilities, jokingly and not, that I find myself doubting his actual capabilities.”

“He’s a magister. I’m sure your superiors informed you of their capabilities.”

“True, but the word I hear is that he killed most of his former contemporaries, and sent the others fleeing from their homes. The most powerful, influential mages of the Tevinter Imperium were nearly wiped out in a day by one man, and then the renegade starts spouting rhetoric and proceeds to tear apart his own country, grinding every source of opposition to a halt.”

“That is hardly grounds for believing him a great harbinger of doom. Do you believe Braden is this threat you were told of?”

“I- As of now, I am not certain, but I am not ruling out the possibility. Even if he isn’t, I worry what would happen if he were to turn his eyes to the rest of Thedas.”

“All the more reason for me to continue with my work.”

Hannah paused to gather her thoughts. “I would have suspected you to be more skeptical. In your place, I would have assumed you were sent to eliminate me.”

“After traveling with Hawke, I prefer to investigate more…outlandish claims before dismissing them. And I’ve had plenty of people and things attempt to kill me in the past, natural and inexplicable.”

While Fenris did not shudder, the look in his eyes reminded Hannah of some of the veteran Templars when they thought of past missions. It soon passed and now she was under the elf’s heavy gaze.

“Make no mistake,” he said, “I am not trusting you, but I am giving you a chance to gain it. Do not make me regret this.”

“I suppose that is all I can ask for. Until I can uncover this threat, whatever or wherever it may be, my sword and those of my companions are at your disposal. Do not waste them.”

Hannah inclined her head and left. Fenris was just beginning to relax, or whatever approximation he could reach, when someone began speaking from behind him.

“What do you know?”

Fenris whirled around, swinging out his sword and pointing it the woman who had appeared in the room without so much as a whisper. He held from actually attacking when a flicker of recognition passed through his mind. That, and the familiar aura setting off warning bells in the back of his mind.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” the woman said, throwing off her hood.

Her hair had gone from white to black, years had disappeared from her face. In the stunned silence, she smirked and continued talking.

“I was almost convinced she would do something foolish, but it appears my words got through to her.”

“And what were you hoping to accomplish?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s a mystery for another time.”

A rustle drew his attention, however briefly, but just as suddenly as she appeared, she had vanished once more into the ether. Lexes slipped in, looking for whoever it was that Fenris had been talking to.

“Are you well, Master Fenris?” she asked.

“The Witch of the Wilds,” he murmured.

“Beg your pardon?”

“That woman the Templar spoke of. Before coming to Kirkwall, Hawke was tasked by a Witch of the Wilds to take an amulet to Sundermount. It appears we have other parties taking an interest in our endeavors.” He took a deep breath. “What is it you had to say?”

Lexes banished any confusion and answered. “There’s a woman who said she was here to see you.”

¤¤¤

Fenris found a rather odd sight before him. Rain was actively playing was surprising in of itself, but who she was playing with was another matter entirely. The pirate captain he had become acquainted with during his time in Kirkwall lazily looked over her shoulder.

“My, my, Fenris,” she said. “You do work fast.”

“Isabela. This is surprising.”

“True. But when I heard that an old friend of mine was off gallivanting around Tevinter being heroic, I just had to see it for myself.” She stood up and dusted off her hands. “I thought that after Kirkwall, you would do your best to keep your nose out of political struggles, especially involving mages.”

“This was not my original intention if that is what you are asking.”

Rain squirmed away from Isabela, running to Lexes.

The pirate raised an eyebrow at the elf. “I suppose Hawke’s habits were rubbing off on all of us in the end.”

Fenris jerked his head back to the ruined kitchen. There had been some food gathered, and more importantly, alcohol. Isabella took note of the libations and sauntered over that direction in a mild hurry, sashaying her hips along the way.

Popping the bottle, he served a portion and handed it to Isabela, who chugged it down in the time it took him to pour for himself.

“Cute little girl,” said Isabela, then added in her usual teasing tones. “Who’s the mother?”

Fenris grimaced. “I don’t know. Her family was slaughtered by some Templars hunting for me. She’s been quiet ever since. I…just took her in as a ward.”

“The same Templars you have in your camp? Are you looking to have your own collection of misfits at each other’s throats?”

“The way she was when I left, she would have died before anyone found out what had happened. And I _am_ building an army. Collecting misfits seems to be a side effect. So what brings you to this end of the world?”

“Business is booming right now,” she answered with an exaggerated shrug. “With all the fighting, there’s plenty of coin in getting goods through the patrols.”

Fenris crossed his arms. “Are you still stealing from Qunari?”

Isabela laughed, though it came across as a bit hollow. “I think I learned from the last time.”

“I would hope so. And I don’t suppose you’ve come just to visit me.”

The pirate rested her face in her hands. “It seems none of us escaped Hawke’s influence in the end. Even when I try to leave that path, it’s pulling me back to it.”

“And with Hawke off on his own…”

“I would hardly say he’s alone.”

Fenris sneered. “Right. _Her_.”

“Merrill’s a sweet girl,” Isabela argued. “Besides, Hawke will keep her out of that kind of trouble. Relatively speaking, anyways.”

“Mm. Now what is it that you wished of me?”

Downing the last of her drink, she looked at the empty bottle. “I have something of a business proposition for you.”

“You’re looking for more consistent employment.”

“I get a safe harbor, you get some respectability with your neighbors. Everyone wins.”

Fenris sighed. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up in terms of pay.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (originally posted 4-APR-2018): Updated as of 19-JUN-2020
> 
> Two years. More than two since I last updated this story. Yeah, I don't think I did a good job at holding myself to my original schedule. Won't belabor that point. Moving along. 
> 
> Next chapter is just about at the ready, and hopefully won't be too far behind this one.
> 
> I fixed the hanging paragraphs and tidied up some of the dialogue. Not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but leagues better than where I had left it.


End file.
